Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous
by PezMaster
Summary: Harry's in for a very strange fifth year. Between dealing with plaguing nightmares, getting over exuberant with Butterbeer, dodging Weasley twin chaos, and finding out more about his past and future then ever before; Harry’s in for the ride of his life!
1. Read this FIRST!

**ATTENTION!**

**Please read this before moving on to the story or you will**

** all go completely off of your onions!**

Yes, hello again. It is I, the one and only PezMaster! I know how much you want to start reading this fantastic piece of literature which lays before you, so I'll stop rambling on and get strait to the facts:

First, I need to let you know that this thing is going to be **HUGE! (Let's just say that I went a little over board and leave it at that).**

Second, I would quickly go through **_'Party Animals' before you read this. No, this is not a sorry excuse to get more reviews for my other stories; __'Party Animals' might give you some clues and background information about the plot in this tale. *cough* __Phiona*cough*_**

Finally, I will move to the **MOST IMPORTANT tid-bit of background information: A new character is introduced in a very odd way (_*Readers moan, mumbling curses under their breaths*). No, no, don't worry; it's fine. I wrote this story as if the new character was in the rest of the __Potter books. That means _****all the regular characters know her and interact as if she was there from the beginning. (So don't freak out if some new chick just simply waltzes into the story unannounced)**

**So who is this 'new character', you ask? Read . . . you'll figure it out . . .**

**Thanks for being patient with my stupidly chaotic creative process!**

**Much Love . . . All The Best . . . Cheers . . . yadda, yadda, yadda . . . .**

**From,**

**PezMaster******


	2. Night on the Quidditch Field

__

_"I've always believed that dreams are triggered by your subconscious. It knows everything; your past, your present, and your future . . . It gives you hints in the form of dreams or nightmares. Of course, dreams could also be triggered by the clashing of the chocolate milkshake and three beef burritos you had before bed. One never knows . . ."_

_                                                      -- Jack Handey "Lost Deep Thoughts"_

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Chapter 1

_Night On The Quidditch Field_

            The sun began to set abnormally late that night (exactly 11:32, if you must know). Of course, that evening was quite different from the evening _before, or even the evening before the evening before. Tonight was the night when two adolescent students smuggled themselves out of their school and scrambled toward a massive grass pitch on the other end of the campus. One of the renegade students was carrying two broomsticks over his shoulder while talking jauntily with his 'partner in crime'. _

Their shadows stretched the length of the field as the sun's last rays burst over the horizon. From the dull light, the two students' appearances could finally be put into context. The taller of the two was a rogue-looking boy his late adolescences. He was wearing a much worn out cloak along with a wide smirk which seemed as if it was plastered on his face. The second renegade was a girl about the same age as her companion. Her frizzy hair stuck out at every possible angle, as if she had just simply rolled out of bed and decided against using a comb that day. The smile on her face was a little more subdued then the boy's, looking as though she had done this millions of times and had not thought twice about it. The girl's eyes were the most striking feature about her; the irises were so deep in colour that they seemed to go on forever. Every now and again, when a burst of dying light from the sinking sun hit the pitch, the girl's eyes would seem to flash brightly, brimming with excitement and a certain intoxication of anticipation.

As soon as they crossed into the middle of the field, the boy politely gave a broomstick to his companion, keeping the other broom for himself. Almost identical smiles spread over the two adolescents' faces as they both mounted their broomsticks and pushed off. Amazingly, they took off, flying around the grass field like two abnormally large birds of prey.

As the sun fully disappeared under the horizon, the deep night cut the riders' vision in half. This new blindness lead to both adolescents astray and finally created a head on, broomstick to broomstick collision. With arms, legs, and brooms tangled, the renegades tumbled to earth, landing with a dull _'thump' on the dew-ridden grass. On the ground, the two began to chuckle at their overwhelming clumsiness, staring up at the blinking constellations. Still smiling off-handily, the boy shifted to his side, glancing at his female companion's face with a blank, brainless stare. Then, riding on one of the worst male impulses known to man, he slowly bent down over her, resulting in lips connecting with the edge of a mouth._

The girl, frozen by a mix of utter horror and cool content, did not make any sudden moves, her mouth left slightly agape. Never in her most randomness dreams would she have ever imagine something like this. Oh sure, she'd been kissed before; but not by . . . _him. _

Sensing that his plan did not go as well as first hoped, the rogue male clumsily got to his feet. A huge goofy grin was stamped on his face, as if he has absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing. His raging hormones numbing all of his senses, all the boy could do was mumble a few non-cohesive words in a sort of pseudo-apology. The girl stood up off the wet grass, apparently excepting her companion's sorry excuse for an explanation: then, as if redeeming him for his embarrassment, she placed a small kiss on the boy's forehead.

The redemption sent the boy to cloud nine, his whole body in a state of narcosis. He stumbled once, only to regain his balance and trip again. Laying on the pitch once again, the boy heard his friend above him chuckling at his hormone-driven clumsiness. Then, beneath him, the boy felt a slight rumble making its way through the field. This wave was eventually followed by a second more powerful earth moving quake. Quite suddenly, a sharp rock jetted out from beneath the pitch, coming within centimetres of the boy's head. Having been thrown from his daze by this quick burst of horrible reality, the boy tried to get to his feet. Another rock sprouted up from beneath him, snapping his forearm like a piece of celery. 

The girl screamed to her companion, coming to his side and cradling the snapped arm. Right in front of their eyes, the pitch began to spilt and crumble. Within seconds, the beautiful grass field became a horrible and jagged cannon.

Knowing that the scene in front of them wouldn't do anything but get worse, the two adolescents struggled to their feet and tried desperately to guide themselves out of the rough terrain. As if on queue, another earthquake ripped through the pitch, giving rise to several new mountainous boulders. Stopping dead in their tracks, the adolescents spun around to face the canyon and watched with wide eyes as a horrendous spectre rose up from the depths of hell. It seemed to be a man draped in a cold, dark cloak which would only be home in a mausoleum. Even though the figure's face was shrouded in shadow by a limp hood, it's fiery, demon-like eyes could still be seen glowing threateningly. Slowly, the figure raised a decaying hand, pointing a skeleton-like finger at the two children.

Clutching the girl's arm with his good hand, the boy stepped in front of his companion. He knew why this demon had come. He knew what it planned to do. It was the boy's job to make sure it didn't happen.

Yelling something that was muffled by the figure's raspy breathe, the boy took another step forward, being a considerable amount braver then he looked or felt. The cloaked demon seemed to over look the boy's threats, its eyes locked firmly on the girl. As if finally deciding her fate, the figure's gruesome hand curled, suddenly sending out a deep red flash which hit the girl with brutal force. Her body spasmed, as if she had lost all control, and then became rigid. Slowly she began to rise above the pitch, the horrible red light still swirling around her helpless body. The figure twisted its hand sideways, causing the girl's body to convulse violently again. The sickening sound of the snapping of bones combined with blood-curdling screams caused the boy below to close his eyes and ears tight, yelling words of mercy to the cloaked figure. The cries above quickly went from screams of pain and anguish to the pains of the week and dying. Knowing that no benevolence would come from the cloaked figure, the boy knew it was his turn to play hero. He scooped up one of the grounded broomsticks, mounted it, and then strongly pushed off the pitch. Coming quickly to his companion's side, the boy grabbed the girl with his good arm; breaking the figure's spell and delivering the unconscious girl safely back down to earth. The roguish boy then spun to face the monstrous, demon-like figure, putting his body in between his enemy and his dying friend, and shouted:

_"You'll need to go through me first!"_

Something flashed sadistically in the figure's fiery eyes, as if welcoming the boy's pitiful challenge. It slowly raised a hand, once again pointing at the two grounded adolescences with the same skeleton-like finger. Without warning, the pitch was filled with a blinding green light, flooding everything from sight. The light softly faded several minutes later, revealing the disappearances of the rocks, canyons, and cloaked figure. The only things that still lay on the field, underneath the millions of twinkling stars, were two motionless bodies; their blood pointing the grass beneath them dark red.

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Very late one night a loud thump came from the smallest bedroom on the top floor of the house at number four Privet Drive. This loud thump was produced by a very dishevelled looking fifteen year old boy who had ungracefully fallen out of his bed during a vivid nightmare. The boy lay flat on his bedroom floor for a while, muttering cures at his overwhelming stupidity and wondering if he would contract tetanus from falling onto the rusty floorboards. He slowly got to his feet, rubbing the back of his pounding head. 

Picking up his glasses from his bedside table and stepping across the room to a small wardrobe, the boy peered into the mirror on the inside of the door. The pale complexion of Harry Potter stared back at him, his chaotic black hair almost hiding his bright green eyes and the red mark on the side of his face (a lovely souvenir from rolling out of bed and onto the hard, wooden floor.) As a habit, Harry lifted his bangs to reveal a thin, lighting bolt scar running down his forehead. It was this line of abnormally formed scar tissue which splinted with pain; which most likely gave Harry the unwanted wake up call. It look normal enough, maybe some sort of battle scar from falling out of a tree or running into a glass door. Of course, as everyone in Harry's world knew, this was no ordinary scar.

But now was not the time to talk about such things. Tonight was the night for tetanus, falling off the bed, and horrible nightmares.

Yes, the nightmare . . . It had seemed all too real; maybe even somewhat familiar to Harry. Shutting his eyes tight, Harry tried his best to re-picture the dream. It had all been so dark; the two adolescences' faces had been shadowed very well, hiding their true identity. Harry couldn't even begin to guess the colour of the male's hair. Was it black like his? Brown? Or was the boy simply wearing a hat? It could have been red . . . Yes, that could be it . . . Red hair, like the Weasley family. Could the boy in the dream be of Weasley relation? 

Harry's mind shifted to the wild haired girl, whose identity was much more shrouded then her companion's. her eyes gave away a slight hint, though: _" . . . irises so deep in colour that they seemed to go on forever . . ." there was only one girl who slightly held to that description. A tall seventh year girl named Alexandrea McKay. Harry had only known this girl through the chaotic Weasley twins, who held a notorious relationship with Alexandrea. She had also held a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team ever since Harry's first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, as far as Harry could remember, the girl in his dream had been quite beautiful; some sort of elf-like quality about her. Alexandrea was pretty, but certainly not drop dead gorgeous. Her hair was always the last thing on her mind; it usually did what ever it pleased, sticking every which way on top of her head. She had a crooked smile, which always showed one of her missing back eye teeth (a souvenir from an unlucky encounter with a renegade bludger). But, through all of her petty flaws, Alexandrea's deep eyes held their own._

The only thing that still stood firm in Harry's mind was the massive cloaked figure. Oh, Harry certainly knew that man, if you could even call that monster a human being. With his serpent-like eyes and long, skeleton-like fingers, the Dark Wizard Voldemort would never be lost from Harry's winding past. The Dark Lord had killed Harry's parents just as he had killed the two adolescences on the Quidditch pitch; No knives, no guns, no weapons of any sort . . . just a wand and a blinding green light then, _'poof' -- dead. Just as easy as blowing out a lit candle._

Simply wanting the memory of the nightmare to disappear along with the overwhelming urge to vomit, Harry slowly walked back to bed, a wave of nausea sweeping through his insides. When he finally placed his glasses besides him and got comfortable in his tangle of blankets, there came a dull '_ping' from his bedroom window. Jamming on his glasses again, he glanced up and watched what looked like an oversized, mutant moth throwing itself against the window pane. Harry cautiously stepped out of bed again and lifted the window screen open. The animal, out of either pure excitement or pure stupidity, did not realize that the screen had been opened. It bolted full speed through the unlocked window and crashed into the opposite wall with a loud '__Thump'._

Thanking his uncle, aunt, and cousin for being extremely heavy sleepers, Harry came to the small animal's side. He found not a mutant moth but a freakishly small owl; and not just any freakishly small owl: this was Ronald Weasley's animal.

Harry picked up the dwarf owl, named Pigwidgeon by Ron's little sister respectfully, and placed it in his own empty animal cage; his own owl, Hedwig, was out tonight, most likely hunting fuzzy woodland creatures for her midnight snack. The dwarf owl gave a pathetic hoot of happiness as Harry untied a letter from the animal's leg. He walked back to his bed, sat down, and began to read the untidy chicken scratch on the piece of parchment. 

Harry - - 

                I haven't seen Hedwig for a while; Mum got worried that the Muggles locked you up again. Fred and George offered to got fetch you, but Mum said I should try to write you first.

                Anyway, my parents are leaving next week for Africa. Charlie's on a little expedition there and Mum just wants to make sure he doesn't eaten by a dragon or anything. They're letting Fred, George, and I go to the old camp grounds outside of Hogsmeade on our own. Lee and Alex are tagging along. It would be great if you could come – I'm sure you wouldn't miss it for the world. (Hermione, on the other hand, decided a petty family trip was more important. Go figure.) 

                We'll pick you up around two on Friday. Take care of the Muggles, I already told Mum you had their permission.

                                                See you soon!

                                                                Ron

Harry smirked widely, rereading the letter several times before he put it down. A trip to Hogsmeade without adults, responsibility, or sanity . . . this was just what Harry craved for: A break.

Taking out a spare piece of parchment and quill from underneath his mattress, Harry wrote a quick reply:

_Don't worry about the Dursleys, Ron. Just pick me up at two and I'll have everything taken care of. Thanks, you've saved me from a month of hell!_

_                        - - Harry_

Rolling up the parchment, Harry walked over to the owl cage and tied the letter to Pigwidgeon's leg. The tiny dwarf owl, who had seemed to fully recovered from running beak-first into a wall, squirmed out of Harry's hand and bolted out the open window; performing several aerial stunts to express his unabridged joy. Sighing contently to himself, Harry shut his window and then dove into his bed, rolling up all the blankets around him. It was not long until he had fallen asleep, still thinking about the trip to Hogsmeade; the nightmare that had woken him up an hour before totally flushed out of his mind.

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_Author's off-hand notes:_

_            Well, I hope you weren't completely board with this. I will make a promise to you: It will get a lot more interesting **and a lot funnier. Next chapter, dears, next chapter. Until then, please feel free to leave me a review. I'd love to know what you all think of all this chaotic writing. Speaking of Love, guess who's going to show up soon? (*PezMaster sets off a thousand exploding pineapples, dropping everyone a hint*)**_

_            And that Alexandrea McKay character? Just be patient with her. She may turn into another one of your heroes. (*PezMaster sets even more exploding pineapples, dropping everyone another big hint*)_

_            Leave a Review and let Phiona Love smile down on you!_

                        _Cheers!_

_                                    PezMaster_

**A/N: _All characters and innuendos belong to Ms. J K Rowling. I'm not planning to make any money off of this (It's not like anyone would pay for my writing, anyway) Alexandrea and Phiona do belong to me, so please don't do anything crazy with them. _**


	3. Fiasco On The Rooftop

_"It may not look it, but falling off of a roof is an extremely painful experience . . ."_

_                      -- He-Who-Is-An-Absolute-Idiot_

_                                  And-Shall-Remain-Nameless_

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**Chapter 2**

_Fiasco On The Rooftop_

The next couple of days seemed to be drawn out over a period of several years. Time crawled by as if, by doing so, it knew it was making Harry's stay at the Dursleys' more painful then ever before. Harry himself had purposely sot out ways of avoiding his aunt and uncle; even going so far as to miss mealtimes, substituting his aunt's bland cooking with cakes and sweets his friends had sent him for his fifteenth birthday. He would have almost gone without complete Dursley contact, too, if he hadn't run out of eatable food. On Friday the only morsels he had left were rock-hard fudge from the Hogwartian grounds keeper and a sad looking birthday tart from Harry's godfather (who's only available tart making materials, Harry suspected, had been packing mud, week old sandwiches, and the occasional dead rat).

Stomach growling profusely, Harry gradually made his way downstairs and into the small kitchen. Uncle Vernon was sitting at the head of the table, reading his newspaper with a large cup of black coffee in one hand. Aunt Petunia was sewing a pair of trousers and speaking to Dudley, who was too busy stuffing his face full of food to notice, let alone listen.

Harry stood at the door of the kitchen for a moment, wondering if Uncle Vernon would give him what for as soon as he sat down at the table. Very slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, Harry slid into his chair. After a moment of dead silence, Harry's stomach took the opportunity to give a disturbingly loud growl which seemed to echo throughout the small room. Uncle Vernon coughed once and turned a page in his newspaper; Aunt Petunia took a sip of her rosemary tea then placed the cup back on the table; Dudley chewed thickly on his lunch, trying to remember to breathe between the bites of danish.

Thinking he was home-free, Harry pulled a bowl of soggy cereal from the middle of the table towards him. Not one of the Dursleys glanced up, not one even acknowledged the existence of a forth body in the room. Mentally thanking each and every one of the Dursleys for their prat-like ways, Harry looked up at the kitchen clock while taking in a spoonful of mushy cereal. It was twelve thirty-two. In exactly one hour and twenty-eight minutes he would be on his way to Hogsmeade with the Weasley brothers. 

Nothing could stop him now.

As if on a horribly ironic queue, something small and grey came flopping through the open kitchen window. It circled around the table several times, trying to find the most inconvenient place to land. Finally making up its mind, the grey ball of fluff dived head-first into Harry's bowl of soggy cereal. Milk flew everywhere, splattering everything within a three foot radius.

The first thought that flooded into Harry's head was to run. Fast. Run really, _really fast. Before Harry had a chance to get the hell out of there, however, Uncle Vernon absolutely burst:_

**_"BOY!!"_**

The veins in Uncle Vernon's meaty neck began to pop out, turning his face even more crimson. With milk dripping down his cheeks and bits of cereal matted in his hair, Uncle Vernon plunged his hand in the remainder of Harry's bowl, pulling out the small fuzzy creature. The overwhelming urge to run like hell flooded Harry's bloodstream again as he suddenly recognized the grey animal caught in him uncle's porky hands:

Pigwidgeon . . . Ron's dwarf owl had tried to bring Harry a letter . . .

Harry slowly looked up at Uncle Vernon, whose beady eyes narrowed into a withering glare. Before he could open his mouth to curse his nephew out of house and home, Harry decided to bravely break the horrible silence.

"Er . . . I'll take the owl back to my room." Harry said cautiously, trying to draw attention away from Ron's letter which was tired to one of Pigwidgeon's legs. "It's probably just a message from Hog -- er, my school . . ." 

Uncle Vernon's face spasmed, his moustache twitching furiously. "Your _school, eh?" he scathed. "I'll tell you right now, boy; your __school has no right sending rabies-infested animals into ****__my house." On that bitter note, he ripped the letter from Pigwidgeon's leg then threw the poor owl out the window._

"Oooo . . . read the letter, Dad!" Dudley demanded, the owl-induced farce amazingly drawing his attention away from his food. "I bet it's telling Harry to turn us all into frogs!"

"He better bet his life it doesn't," Uncle Vernon muttered, his eyes scanning the bit of parchment. A deep purple colour flooded into his face. "From your school, is it? Think again, boy!"

Uncle Vernon slammed the letter face up on the table so that everyone could clearly see Ron Weasley's chicken-scratch handwriting.

"_Bugger," Harry mumbled under his breath._

"So your freakish friends think they can storm in here any time they please, do they?" Uncle Vernon continued ranting. "You can tell them I **never want _any of your kind within two feet of __this house!"_**

"They'll come anyway," Harry said, trying to intimidate his uncle. He had grown quite fed up with the Dursleys talking about his friends as if they carried the black plague. "You read the letter; they're coming back to get me."

Face going a brilliant maroon, Uncle Vernon wailed like some half-crazed animal and shredded Ron's letter with his bare hands. "Petunia!" he ordered, "Get me my hammer and wood!"

He then turned, glaring intensely at Harry. "I'll be damned if I let something like - - like **_that go on in __my house," he spat spraying Harry with a mist of saliva._**

As Uncle Vernon raced out of the room to wizard-proof his house, closely follows by Aunt Petunia and Dudley, Harry sat back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. He knew it was too late; it was twelve fifty-three . . . he'd only have to wait for an hour and seven minutes.

Ron was coming to get him.

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It took Uncle Vernon a good half an hour to secure the opening of the fireplace, nailing as much wood to it as humanly possible. When two o' clock rolled around, he happily declared that nothing could get through the fireplace this time. Feeling absolutely secure from the entire wizarding world, Uncle Vernon ordered everyone down to the living room to see his handy work in action.

"I'd like to see those bastards get through _this," Uncle Vernon beamed, patting the blockade with proudly._

"Are you sure it's safe, Vernon?" Aunt Petunia asked meekly, clutching Dudley tightly against her chest. "After what they did last year—"

"Of course it's safe, woman," Uncle Vernon barked. "It's made out off one hundred percent Dursley ingenuity."

Harry snorted thickly. He doubted the 'Dursley ingenuity' could even manage to make a simple tomato sandwich, let alone create a sound fortification dividing them from the rest of the world.

"Yes, yes, yes . . ." Uncle Vernon continued, breathing a great sigh of relief. "Not one of the boy's freakish . . . _relations are going to be able to get within ten feet of him. I'll stomp out all this nonsense if it's the –"_

Quite suddenly, there came a loud explosion from over top of the house at number four Privet Drive, cutting Uncle Vernon's speech short. Two dull bangs followed, making the roof creak and groan. Next came the low creaking noises; something was trampling around on the house's thin rooftop.

"What is it?" gasped Aunt Petunia, who was staring, terrified, up at the ceiling above. "Oh, Vernon . . . It's not - - _them, is it?" _

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short by more clamour from above. Straining his ears, Harry could faintly hear voices coming from the other side of the ceiling:

_"The roof, Lee? The **roof?!"**_

_"Can it, Alex. At least I got us here."_

_"Oh, yes . . . the roof - - the living room . . . Same difference."_

Harry smiled widely, getting up from his seat. Ron and his chaotic 'entourage' had kept their promise . . . soon Harry would be far away from the Dursleys and his life in complete anguish and misery. Uncle Vernon, on the other end of the spectrum, still held his beliefs.

"They're . . . they're just on the roof . . ." he stuttered, a crazed look flooding onto his face. "There's no way - - No way in high hell –"

_"Oh God, Lee . . ." came one of the voices from the roof. __"What about Ron?"_

_"What **about Ron?" answered the second voice.**_

_"He's coming in right behind me – What if –"_

The first voice got cut off suddenly by another large blast and loud thump on the roof. Several screams and curse words were triggered, followed by the sound of someone sliding down the roof, loosening every shingle along the way. From the front window, Harry caught a brief glimpse of someone falling downward towards earth, landing with a muffled _thump into a group of rose bushes. _

Behind Harry, Uncle Vernon growled like a psychopathic killer. "No way . . . no way in high hell . . ."

There was dead silence for a moment, only to be severely broken by someone jabbing at the door bell several times. Looking back at the Dursleys, who were in no condition whatsoever to stop him, Harry walked to the front door and opened it.

A lanky, boy of fifteen dizzily stood on the front doorstep, complete with cheesy grin and lively eyes. He had several twigs and leaves sticking out from his bright red hair; a number of thin scratches and bruises (mementoes from falling off of a two story house into a yard thick with thorny rose buses) were scattered randomly over his severely freckled face.

The boy nearly had to duck to get underneath the door frame and into the house; he grazed an even six foot two, a product of one of his famous 'über-growth spurts'.

"Hello Ron," Harry gave his friend a warm smile, though slightly unsure of the Weasley's current condition. "Are you . . . all right?"

"Oy! That was _not a pleasant experience," Ron replied, rubbing the back of his head. "Oh sure, I've fallen off a roof before . . . but never into a field full of bloody thorns." He glanced off-handily at the Dursleys, who were all huddled in the far corner, whimpering like little baby animals._

"Er . . . Hello again," he offered.

Dudley let out a shrill squeal and bolted into the kitchen as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him. Aunt Petunia promptly fainted while Uncle Vernon let out a meek, puppy-like growl, trying to look somewhat threatening.

"Don't mind them," Harry told Ron, glancing up at the ceiling; the calls and scratching noises were still coming in strong from the other side. "Who d'you bring with you?"

"Lee and Alex," Ron said, picking out a leaf from his dishevelled hair. "They wanted to practice their Apparation. Got their learning permits, they do." 

Harry raised un eyebrow, slightly impressed. "So how'd _you get here?"_

Ron's mouth hung open for some time before answering delicately: "Er . . . uhhhh . . . they brought me along?"

Harry snorted. "You _Apparated?"_

"Of course not!" Ron replied airily, putting a hand over his heart as though Harry had mortally offended him. "Alex and Lee just let me . . . tag along."

"So you Apparated," Harry finished, smirking evilly. "Isn't that illegal if you're underage?"

"Er . . . slightly," Ron remarked, his cheeks tinting a guilty red. "Could you look over all of this when you get to my house? My mum would absolutely slaughter me - - then kill Lee and Alex afterwards. Their not suppose to Apparate without an adult. Mum's scared stiff that one of them is going to go and splinch themselves.  Oh God, you should have seen her when Fred and George pasted their Division of Junior Witch and Wizard Apparation Test at the Department of Magical Transportation. She almost went into cardiac arrest."

Ron then looked up at the ceiling and rapped on it with an open palm. "You two should come down!" he called up to his entourage.

_"How?" retorted someone above. __"Dear God, I'm not coming down the way **you did."**_

"Go down the chimney." Harry offered the marooned roof-dwellers. "The fireplace is blocked, but I'm sure you could blast through easily enough."

Uncle Vernon gave a little snort of indignity from the other corner of the room. "That fireplace is as sound as the roof!" he snarled.

The second horribly ironic queue that day came in the form as a large crack making its way across the ceiling, bringing down a light rain of plaster. Within seconds the crack became wider, stretching the length of the living room and triggering a large groan from the stressed roof.

"Oh, _bugger," Harry and Ron muttered simultaneously, knowing perfectly well what was coming next._

At that exact moment, the ceiling's small spilt became a gaping hole. The front of the roof collapsed; shingles, plaster, and panelling poured down into the living room. The roof-dwellers came with the last of the shingles, screaming curse words as they hit the carpeted floor with two dull thumps.

" _'Lets Apparate,' he says . . . __'What's the worst that could happen?' he asks me . . ."_

"Just stuff it, Alex, and get your bloody elbow out of my nose."

It took a moment for the air to clear. Harry, coughing madly from the plaster dust caught in his lungs, squinted through his dirty glasses, glancing over the debris to see the total extent of the damage. Beside him, Ron groaned, slapping his forehead with an open palm. He was still standing, but a thick white dust covered his hair, making him look like he had just stuck his head in a tub full of peroxide. Uncle Vernon's mouth was left agape, forming an extremely bemused expression on his face; the unconscious Aunt Petunia in his arms.

There came a hacking noise from the middle of the room, catching Harry's attention. Lee Jordan was sprawled across the collapsed coffee table, staring up at the gaping hole above. Another figure was next to him, staggering to her feet and picking out a splintering shingle from her tangled hair. She glanced up, finding both Harry's and Ron's eyes.

"Didn't quite make it to the chimney," she remarked. "The roof kind of collapsed on our way there, causing us to plummet to a near-death experience."

"We noticed, Alex." Ron commented darkly. "We were fatefully placed under your plummet."

"It's fine, though." Harry gave Alexandrea McKay a smile, taking off his glasses to clean them with the sleeve of his shirt. "You didn't kill anyone down here."

"Oh good," Alexandrea replied airily, as if making a roof collapse was a common, everyday occurrence. She returned Harry's friendly smile, showing her missing eye tooth as she did, then tilted her head and squinting upwards. "Well, Harry, your aunt and uncle just got one hell of a sunroof." Something tinged in her speech-pattern. She had always had a hint of some foreign accent; definitely home in the Western Hemisphere, maybe to go so far in saying North America. Harry had always been meaning to ask her where she picked it up from. As far as he knew, Alexandrea had been born and raised on the island, never leaving the country of Britain long enough to pick up an accent. 

"Sunroof custom made by Jordan and McKay Inc.," Lee Jordan slowly got to his feet, wincing as he rubbed his sore back. "We really get into our work, don't we?"

Alexandrea promptly smacked Lee upside the head in retaliation for the awful pun, knocking a cloud of dust off of his dreadlocks. Set off from the new plaster particles, Alexandrea's crooked nose scrunched up mechanically and let out a monstrous sneeze, making even Uncle Vernon grimace in complete disgust.

"Erm . . . sorry 'bout that, Lee," Alexandrea sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"No problem, mate," Lee replied sarcastically through gritted teeth. "I simply love being physically abused and then plastered by your nose oysters. It's such a pleasure, it is."

Before Alexandrea had a chance to smack Lee again, Ron stepped in, knowing perfectly well that a battle like this could turn into a full fledged war. "I think Harry wants to get out of here as soon as possible," he said, turning towards his friend. "Where's all your luggage, Harry? Let's go get them."

"Er . . . they're upstairs in my room," Harry answered, eyeing Lee and Alexandrea. From past experiences, he knew it wouldn't be wise leaving those two alone in a room with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

"Don't worry about them," Ron said to Harry in an undertone as if he was reading his friend's mind. "Lee and Alex are on a real tight leash already. They won't pull anything else today."

"It's not Lee and Alex I'm worried about," Harry replied as he and Ron climbed the stairs to his bedroom. "It's the Dursleys."

Sure enough, as Ron and Harry were handling the luggage and owl cage, Uncle Vernon snapped out of his weakened state. His curses could be heard throughout the house:

" – MILLIONS OF POUNDS IN DAMAGE! YOU AND YOUR BUMBLING GAUCHENESS COULD HAVE **KILLED US ALL! FORGET THE STUPID BOY AND GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! IF I _EVER SEE ANY ONE OF YOU WITHIN TWO YARDS OF MY FAMILY, __I'LL CALL THE POLICE AND HAVE YOU THROWN IN—"_**

Uncle Vernon's rant was suddenly cut short by forces unknown to Harry and Ron. As Aunt Petunia, who had apparently regained consciousness momentary, screamed 'bloody apocalypse'. The two boys came rushing downstairs to see what chaos had resumed, dragging Harry's luggage behind them.

"Dear God, we leave you alone for two seconds . . ." Ron muttered, sounding frightfully like his mother. He dropped the case he was carrying as he suddenly noticed what had gone on.

In the middle of the room lay Uncle Vernon, his arms stiffly at his sides and jaw clenched tightly as if it was held together with a terribly strong bonding glue.

Harry's mouth twitched violently as he tried to stifle the overwhelming urge to double-over with laughter. "What did you two do?"

"Just your basic Full-Body Bind," Alexandrea said simply as she and Lee pocketed their wands. Her dark eyes drifted over to Harry's school trunk. "Need some help with that?"

As Aunt Petunia began to cry fervently over her rigid husband, the four Hogwartians fought an epic battle with Harry's luggage. Ron and Alexandrea easily broke through Uncle Vernon's barrier which covered the mouth of the fireplace. Lee started a fire within it, prodding at the emerald green flames with his wand.

"It's all set up," Lee said, nodding to the fire. "Since we shouldn't go back the way we came," (Ron's ears tinged a guilty pink) "we might as well use the Floo system." With that, Lee picked up Hedwig and her cage and placed it into the hot fire. "Should go right back to the Burrow."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Alexandrea yawn overenthusiastically. She had grown tired of Lee's fire making skills and was turning her attention to prodding pieces of shingles with her wand, changing them into neon pink beetles. 

"I thought you couldn't use magic out of school," Harry said, arching an eyebrow as a pink beetle scurried across his foot. "The body bind, the fire, not to mention the roof . . . I'm surprised the Ministry of Magic hasn't swarmed this place and tackled us all by now."

Lee smiled widely, as if curing Harry of his puzzlement was an extreme pleasure. "Before your last year at Hogwarts you can apply for one of these," He pulled a small, plastic cart out from his pocket. "A Licence for Use of Magic by the Under-aged."

Harry looked over Lee's card with interest. It remarkably resembled a Muggle driver's licence, minus the fact that the picture of Lee was moving, trying to smooth down a dreadlock at the time. '_MINISTRY OF MAGIC' was written across the top in wavy gold letters. Underneath the Ministry's signature, it read: __'The Department of the Use of Underage Magic and the Division of Junior Witch and Wizard Evaluation approves Ms./Mr. **LEE KATONA JORDAN  for full time use of his/her magic.  **_

"Fred, George, Lee, and I all went to pass the test and pick up our cards together," Alexandrea said as she helped Ron stuff Harry's trunk into the mouth of the fireplace. "Fred switched Lee's wand with one of their trick ones to make things more interesting. You should have seen it; Lee tried to perform a simple Encouragement charm and the wand blew up in his face. Thank God the Instructor had a sense of humour."

"Thank God _I have a sense of humour," Lee retorted. "If I had been a lesser man, I would have impaled Fred on his own fake wand."_

"If you had been a lesser man," Alexandrea shot back off-handily, "then you would have amused George and I that much more."

"And killed Fred in the process."

"_I certainly didn't say humour was all dandelions and fuzzy woodland creatures. There are always sacrifices."_

"Remind me to tell Fred that his best friend would have traded him up for a cheap laugh," Lee muttered to Harry and Ron, knowing that he could never win the battle with Alexandrea. He quickly changed the subject: "So, is that all of the lugage, Harry?" 

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing around the room to see if he had forgotten anything important. A smile broke across his face as he fully took in the sight of the Dursleys' living room. His aunt was curled up in a fetal position, leaning against the couch and rocking herself. Uncle Vernon was still lying in the middle of a great pile of shingles, his body still under the influence of the Body-Binding spell.

_'Jeez,' Harry thought to himself, __'this has to be worse then last year. Even Fred and George couldn't cause this much damage with their Ton-tongue Toffee . . .'_

"Where _are Fred and George?" Harry said suddenly, wondering why on earth the Weasley twins would ever pass up a chance to create some extra chaos. "Why didn't they come along?"_

Ron exchanged a long glance with Lee and Alexandrea. All three of them frowned slightly.

"They  . . . er . . . were held up," Ron replied slowly. Trying to tangent from the subject at hand, he dug into one of his pockets and pulled out a fist full of Floo powder. "Here Harry," he poured some of the powder into Harry's open palm. "You go first. We'll come in behind you."

Harry glanced at Ron, knowing perfectly well that he was hiding information about the twins' whereabouts on purpose. Realizing that he would find out what was happening soon enough, Harry sighed and stepped into the fireplace, sprinkling some Floo powder on top of his head. Before any ash could get a chance to make its way into Harry's lungs, he clearly said _"The Burrow"; not noticing the commotion behind him as Lee and Alexandrea took the Body-Binding spell off a very crimson-faced Uncle Vernon. _


	4. No Longer Red-Heads

_"I have always believed that hair is a very sure index of character."   
                -- Catherine Tynan_

_"Oh, come on Mom. If hockey players can have mullets, why can't I dye my hair?"_

_"When you start making as much money as a professional hockey player, you can shave your head, glue the hair onto your chest, and start dancing around stark naked, for all I care."_

_                                              -- From the book** 'Perils of Adolescents'**_

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Chapter 3

_No Longer Red-Heads_

Harry was quickly reminded of how much he despised travelling by Floo powder. Spinning faster and faster; a dazzle of fireplaces rushing past him at break-neck speed; the cereal he had for lunch sloshing around his stomach, threatening to make a very much unwanted reappearance. Finally, Harry felt himself slowing down and falling forward into the Weasleys' kitchen. He drunkenly got to his feet, still feeling as if the room was spinning around him.

The kitchen was, as always, cluttered yet quite inviting. Two of the local chickens had made their way into the room, clucking and pecking near the wooden dinning table which was smack dab in the middle of the room and surrounded by a variety of chairs and stools. For some reason, a book titled _'Fire Starting for Pyromaniacs' lay soaking in the sink next to a pile of drying dishes. Several Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans were scattered next to Harry's school luggage, which had made it through the Floo system just as Lee had predicted._

Hoping that taking a seat would help stop the room from spinning so much, Harry stumbled over to a rickety stool by the window. He glanced outside, skimming over the Weasleys' sad little garden and the long table which had most likely been set up for tonight's dinner.

A loud bang suddenly echoed from upstairs followed by a terrible amount of yelling and screaming. Harry got out of his seat, about to go and find the cause of all the commotion, but was stopped by Ron. The red-head flew out of the fireplace and landed with a Grade-A face plant right in front of Harry's feet and into a pile of chicken poop.

"Never quite got the hang of that," Ron grunted as Harry helped him to his feet. "It's better then Apparating onto a roof, mind you, but still--"

Ron was abruptly cut off by the crashing noises coming from the second landing. He bit his lip and wiped the chicken souvenirs off his forehead, glancing towards the staircase. The expression on his face read like a billboard: Right now the last thing he ever wanted to do was go to the second floor landing.

"What's going on up there?" Harry asked, looking up at the staircase as well.

"The weekly Weasley family Apocalypse," Ron mumbled. "Don't worry. It should start to burn out just about now."

Proving that Ron was terribly wrong, a monstrous explosion sounded, shaking the cramped house to its very foundation.

"Er . . . maybe we should head outside," Ron suggested. He began to guide Harry towards the door just as Lee and Alexandrea stepped out of the kitchen fireplace.

"Harry, I feel so sorry for you," Lee said, shaking his head so that all the ash would fall off his dreadlocks. "Having to live with those Muggles must have been complete hell. Dursley was ready to kill us with his bare hands after we took the Binding spell off of him."

"Of course, you must note that not too many people would be absolutely thrilled at the fact that their roof imploded," Alexandrea commented. "But still, I completely agree with Lee. That bodgey Uncle of yours, Harry, is Satan's second cousin, twice removed."

"I'm glad you see my point," Harry said. He then winced as yet another eruption was set off from the second landing, triggering more yelling then ever before.

Alexandrea looked at Ron, the uncommon emotion of acute anxiety travelling across her face. "It's _still going on?" _

"Sounds like it," Ron answered. "I was telling Harry before—we better all head outside for now."

"We'll be safe from greater injury out there," Lee muttered. He then glanced at Alexandrea, who didn't seem to want to move. "You're coming, aren't you?"

Alexandrea bit her lip, her eyes locked on the stairway to the second landing. "No," she said finally. "I better go up and help. Maybe I can prevent Mrs. Weasley from getting to the point where she strangles Fred and George in a fit of blind rage."

"Fred and George?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What did they _do? It __couldn't be all that bad."_

Ron mumbled some non-cohesive sentences, pushing Harry out the door. Lee, after watching Alexandrea climb the staircase, jogged to catch up with the two younger Hogwartians.

"She actually went up there," Lee said as he, Ron, and Harry walked towards the garden. "Alexandrea McKay actually climbed the flight of steps leading to her premature death. That girl is either ruthlessly brave or stupidly thick-headed."

"My vote goes for thick-headed," Ron said. "She's been around here enough to know how long Mum can go on rampaging forever. This time, Fred and George really sent her around the bend."

"Ron," Harry, getting slightly frustrated with all that was happening, stopped in his tracks. "Could you _please tell me what's going on around here? It can't be all that bad. Fred and George didn't make Percy spontaneously combust, or anything; did they? Er . . . they didn't, __did they?"_

Lee sent a look of special meaning towards Ron, who seemed as thwarted as Harry.

"I would love to tell you, Harry," Ron started slowly, rubbing the back of his head absentmindedly. "You know me – I'll tell you _anything, but . . . but this is as over the top for me as it is for you. Fred and George would do a better job explaining it all, anyways."_

"Assuming that they both live long enough to see Harry again," Lee commented under his breath.

Knowing he was defeated for the moment, Harry exhaled deeply and rolled his eyes, reluctantly following Ron and Lee as they made their way into the Weasley family garden.

Ginny, the youngest of the seven red-haired siblings, was sitting on a tiny stone bench, her face showing the signs of utter boredom. When she caught sight of the three boys coming her way, however, she jumped right out of her seat.

"You _Apparated, didn't you?" she yelled, throwing her arms up in the air. "****__Apparated? How thick headed can you be, Ron? Thank God Mum's still busy with Fred and George; she probably didn't even realize you left. But I personally had to distract Percy from--"_

"So Percy didn't spontaneously combust after all," Harry cut off Ginny, keeping his voice quite monotone.

Ginny jerked her head around in surprise, as if she had just noticed that Harry was standing at her brother's right shoulder. She visually recoiled, her freckled cheeks blushing a soft pink. She didn't question Harry's interruption, she didn't even care to remark; her eyes just simply darted toward her feet in a quick panic.

"Hi, Harry," she said, quite suddenly much calmer then before. "I'm glad that Ron and Lee and Alex got you here in one piece."

"Er . . ." Harry scratched the back of his head, arching an eyebrow. "Thanks. I'm glad to be here."

"Because, you know, Lee and Alex only have their Apparation Learners Permits," continued Ginny as if she hadn't heard a word Harry had just said. "And Ron can hardly Apparate two centimetres to the left--"

"Oh, it's not as if _you can do any better, Ginny," Ron retorted waspishly. "Where do you get off--"_

"Okay, kids! That's plenty sibling rivalry for today," Lee announced, stepping in between Ron and Ginny. "If you haven't cared to notice, three of our friends are back in the Burrow and are about to have their life sentences drawn up for them in their own entrails." 

"Three?" Ginny said, looking slightly bemused for a moment. "_Alexandrea went up there, didn't she? Oh, why on earth would she stick out her neck for Fred and George?"_

"You know perfectly well why," Ron replied, a bit of harshness left in his voice. "She's known them for as long as _I have. Alex would jump off a cliff into a valley of sharp, pointy rocks if it got Fred and George out of a tight jam."_

Harry raised an eyebrow, quite puzzled. He knew Alexandrea and the Weasley twins had been chummy for an extensive amount of time, but he never dreamed they had known each other for fifteen years. "How could Alex have know them for so long?" he asked.

"Alex told you about her mum, right?" Lee started. Harry shook his head.

"In the dragon business, she is," Ron continued. "She practically lives with those over-grown lizards. It's a wonder why she hasn't sprouted scales and a pair of wings. Of course, she couldn't very well drag Alex along with her; it's way too dangerous. Only really experienced people can get within ten meters of a full grown dragon. The Ministry would jump anyone who let a novice near one. So, right after I was born, Alex's Mum started to drop Alex here when she had to go off dragon chasing for a while. Alex has spent quite a bit of time here, if I'm remembering right. She still does over the summers."   

"I think that it's all awful," Ginny commented, more to herself then to anyone else. "Alex has never spent so much as a long month with her Mum and brother. It's terrible. She's been with us more then her own family."

"Ginny, you've met Alex's mum before," Lee sat down on the little stone bench and began to throw several large pebbles at a garden gnome which was hiding in a cluster of weeds. "Even thought she might be a bit, er, off the wall at times, she still has a heart. I'm sure, if she could, she would drag Alex everywhere with her."

"So, I'm assuming she doesn't belong in the same category as Malfoy's parents," Harry remarked.

Ron snorted thickly. "I couldn't even _begin to compare the two. Alex's Mum is really great; always writes, visits when ever she can. When she __does visit, she brings tons of new pranks and gags for us to try out. Mind you, most of them are only legal in small South American countries, but still . . . Comparing Lucius Malfoy with Phiona McKay would be like comparing Snape and Dumbledore. It just isn't done."_

Harry nodded in a pseudo-understanding, not quite sure what to say next. This aspect of Alexandrea's life was very new to him. He had known this girl for five years and never even bothered to question her about family or home life. Always trusting Ron's option, Harry knew Alexandrea's mother must have wonderful character. Nonetheless, Harry absolutely agreed with Ginny's outlook on it all; it was horrible that this woman would leave her only daughter with another family as she ran off to go work with some man-eating, over-grown lizards. Ron may have overestimated; Phiona McKay may be easier to compare to Lucius Malfoy then first thought.

"Well then," Lee rose off of the stone bench to pick up the now unconscious garden gnome and throw it over the fence. "Sorry to stop you all from talking about Alex's dysfunctional family behind her back, but I believe that we can head back to the house."

"Lee's right," Ginny agreed. "I haven't heard any screaming for a while."

Quite randomly, there came a crash from the vicinity of the second landing. A window had shattered, showering the ground below with shards of glass. Something else other then glass fell to the earth as well, however. A plump, brown chicken came streaming towards the grown after being flung out of the window. It landed with as much grace a semi-flightless bird could muster and recovered quickly, pecking and prodding glass out of its dishevelled feathers.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured, looking up at the shattered window. "We're all going to die . . . ."

~*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ~

It took the four Hogwartians some time to build up enough courage to even think about re-entering the Burrow. Several minutes pasted by and (when no poultry came flying through any of the remaining windows) Ron, Lee, and Ginny each declared that it was safe enough to go inside the house. Harry eagerly followed their decision, wondering when on earth he was going to find out what had caused all of the ongoing controversy.

Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen, fussing about something on the stove and muttering under her breath. She was dressed in a dark maroon housecoat with matching slippers. A baby blue towel was rapped around her head like a miniature turban. She turned around quickly, giving a yelp of surprise while flinging her wand to the side as she caught sight of Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Lee standing at the door. 

"Oh . . . oh my," Mrs. Weasley exhaled deeply, bending down to pick up her wand. "I didn't hear you kids come in. In fact, I didn't even hear you leave--"

"We, er, went by Floo powder to pick Harry up," Ron said slowly, nodding at Harry with a bit of uneasiness in his voice.

Mrs. Weasley's wide eyes travelled to Harry. Her face suddenly spilt into a large, warm, motherly smile. "Harry, dear! We started to worry when your owl didn't come around as often. You know, I've never trusted those Muggles you've lived with. My goodness, when Albus Dumbledore gave us permission, I sent Ron and Lee off as soon as possible. I hope they got you all right."

"Yes. No problems," Harry exchanged glances with Ron and Lee. "No problems at all."

"Oh good," Mrs. Weasley turned back to the stove, motioning Ginny to retrieve a stalk of broccoli for her. "I know Lee and Alexandrea were talking about _Apparating there. __Honestly. Sometimes I think that Dumbledore hasn't taught you kids any common sense--"_

Mrs. Weasley was impudently interrupted by a large hammering noise coming from somewhere above them.

"DON'T YOU _DARE!" Mrs. Weasley wailed. She grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and trusted the handle into the ceiling above several times. "I'M WARNING YOU! __DO YOU WANT ME TO COME UP THERE **AGAIN?"**_

All noises above ceased instantaneously. The stimuli had decided to stop completely rather then deal with the unabridged wrath that Molly Weasley was certainly ready to dish out.

"Oh, sometimes I don't know what to do with them," Mrs. Weasley burst suddenly, talking more to herself then to anyone else. "The things they do . . . God knows I've tried my hardest to stop all this nonsense . . . I can't _imagine what will happen if the Ministry ever picks then up for anything . . . Arthur would probably have to bail all three out . . . And, __Phiona—Oh, Phiona would certainly be no help . . . She'd probably __encourage them . . ."_

Harry, who was slightly spacing out from Mrs. Weasley's ranting about Fred, George, and Alexandrea, was thrown back into the real world by a sharp elbow in the ribs from Ron. Once he had gathered Harry's attention, Ron nodded in the direction of the staircase which led to the second floor landing. Lee had been slowly sneaking towards it all this time, and was now carefully climbing the stairs.

Ron gave his friend a look of questioning. Harry nodded to confirm.

_'Lets go,' he mouthed._

Harry and Ron made their way towards the stairs as Mrs. Weasley turned around to check what was burning in the oven. Making sure that she and Ginny wasn't watching, the two Gryffindor fifth years bolted up to the second landing.

~*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ~

"You're crazy. Did you hear me, Lee? You're bloody stark raving mad to come up here."

"Then that must make you a certified psychopath and Harry a raging lunatic. You both are _following me . . . and you're calling **me crazy? You've got your wires crossed somewhere, Ronniekinns." **_

Minus Ron and Lee's silent bickering, Harry felt as if he was walking down a hall of one of Hogwarts abandon dungeons. The second landing was usually full of uncontrollable laughter and random explosions; it was now eerily quiet and unnaturally desolate. The ghoul in the attic had apparently given up on banging on pipes and was, in turn, moaning like a dying cat. This combined with the hooting of one of the owls, which had taken up residence in a shoe closet, sent a brief chill up the nape of Harry's neck.

At the very end of the hall, Lee turned around and motioned Harry and Ron to keep absolutely quiet. He then, slowly and carefully, pushed open the door of the Weasley twin's bedroom.

"—stupidest thing you could ever do. It was like I was having an out of body experience while your brains were being replaced with the IQ of a duck-billed platypus."

"Platypus? Where did _that come from?"_

"Sorry. I'm a bit off today. Can't really thick of a proper insult that suits your level of stupidity."

"No worries, Al. It's understandable."

"Take your own sweet time, beautiful."

"Oh, go kick off. The both of you."

"That was it? That was your insult?"

"I really think you need to hire a new writer, my friend."

Harry, Ron, and Lee took a chance and peeked inside the room. Alexandrea was seated on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bunk beds, her face showing signs of complete frustration. On the other side of the room sat Fred and George Weasley, smiles of utter accomplishment on their faces. 

Except . . . these two boys didn't quite looked like the Fred and George Harry was so used to seeing.

One of the twins (Harry had not the slightest idea which one) had an extremely different look to him. His hair was quite a bit shorter and stuck out as if he had just rolled out of bed. There was also not a speck of his famous 'Weasley Red Hair' left on top of his head. It was now all a bright, neon blue. 

The other twin's main had served a similar fate, though it hadn't been cut as short. And, instead of the blue, the colour of his hair had stayed somewhat normal; through, along with his natural orange, there were spikes of deep red and bleach blond, making it look as though his head was set aflame. There was also something growing on the edge of his chin; something that humorously resembled several fuzzy orange caterpillar launching a ruthless attack on his face.

"Are you mates alright?" Lee asked, being the first one to step into the room, closely followed by Harry and Ron.

"We're fine. It's nothing Fred and I couldn't handle," A blue haired George Weasley casually got to his feet, rubbing the side of his neck. His hazel eyes travelled across the room to meet Harry's. A huge grin crossed his freckled face. "Ah, Harry, old bean! How's the grand world been treating you?"

"Er—Okay . . . I guess," Harry had an incredibly hard time tearing his eyes away from the Weasley twin's hair. He wondered if staring at the frighteningly bright colour would have the same effects as the sun; either way, your retina would start to fry like eggs in a skillet.

"I see you can't help but bask in our glory," Fred commented, pulling at a tuff of his flaming hair. "Like it?"

"It's, erm, _nice," Harry answered awkwardly._

"Oh dear God, Harry. Don't lie. It only encourages them that much more." Alexandrea exclaimed, holding her head in her hands.

"She's right," Ron added with a smirk. "They've been absolute horrors to live with already. The hair just made them worse."

Fred arched an eyebrow at his younger sibling. "We know you're just jealous," he said jauntily. "But that doesn't mean you have to lash out at us like that." 

"Get over yourself, Freddy-boy," Alexandrea rolled her eyes. "That fuzzy chin of yours looks like you're being overrun by a patch of rabid Amazonian fungus. And your head," she stood up to run her fingers through George's hair, "makes you look like some punk rock group from America."

"Ouch, Al," Fred winced and put a hand on his heart, doing his best to look mortally wounded. "That really hurt."

"Why did you dye your hair, anyways?" Harry asked.

George smiled evilly as if giving Harry an answer was an extreme pleasure. He stuck a hand in his pocket and pulled out a fist full of strange little striped mints.

"These," he said with absolute flourish, "are Chromatic Confections, more commonly known as ColourMints. Our newest addition to the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes collection."

"They were suppose to turn your face different colours, but something got mixed up a bit," Fred commented, ruffling his twin's blue hair.

"In addition to that, they came on a little more powerful then first expected," George casually delivered an elbow into Fred's chest, causing him to stop the 'noogie-fest'.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"They're complete idiots, that's what happened," Alexandrea broke in. "I told them to test far away from their parents just in case the mints did something unexpected. I wanted Fred and George to blow themselves up on their own sweet time, not with the company of others."

"But we didn't blow ourselves up, did we?" George pointed out.

"Sadly," Ron commented.

"You're lucky we didn't slip one into your oatmeal this morning at breakfast, Ronniekinns," Fred said. "Alex and I were quite tempted with the whole idea, until George pointed out that we still had some Laxative Pills left over from last week."

Ron gulped, his face going a little pale. "Lax . . . . La . . . . _Laxative Pills?" _

"The chickens got a hold of them before we had a chance, though," George said, a little bit of disappointment in his voice. "They'll be crapping all over the place in a couple hours."

"For once, I'm glad they didn't use you as their test dummy, Ron," Lee said, taking a seat on the lower bunk bed. "Everyone would either have to deal with you wetting your pants or have hair styles from hell."

"You mean those mints effect the people _around you, too?" Harry asked with complete astonishment._

"Of course not," Fred replied a little too quickly.

"Harry knows your lying," Alexandrea commented flatly to Fred.

"Harry also knows _you're a big prat," Fred shot back. "In fact the whole __world knows __you're a big prat."_

Alexandrea shook her head in complete disgust. "You and I _both need to hire better writers, Fredski," she said. "We stink at insulting each other today."_

"It's all a bit sad, isn't it?" Fred observed.

"Well, there's always tomorrow."

"Right you are."

"And I'm already starting to run out of material about your new style. There are only so many bad hair jokes in the world, you know."

"Oh, don't strain yourself too hard, beautiful."

"Would you two stuff it?" Ron finally interrupted. "You're driving us all off our onions."

"And you already drove your Mum off the deep end," Lee pointed out, itching the bottom of one of his feet. "Do you get some sort of enjoyment out of sending people to St. Mungoes?"

Fred arched an eyebrow and exchanged a look with his twin.

"You lot _heard Mum blow her top?" George asked._

"How could we _not have?" Ron asked. "She was screaming louder then the time you filled the well with Filibuster Fireworks, making half of Ottery St. Catchpole's septic tanks explode."_

"You two were both knee deep in crap," Alexandrea said off-handily. Then, as a second thought, she added, "Forgive the bad pun."

George, who didn't seem to hear a word Alexandrea said, stuffed his ColourMints back into his pocket. "Well, it wasn't _our fault that Mum and Dad decided to waltz right into the kitchen when we started testing the Chromatic Confections."_

"Yes! And it wasn't _our fault that the mints were too powerful, causing everyone in a ten meter radius to sprout different colour ha--" Fred stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh, no wait . . . that __is kind of our fault, isn't it?"_

"Oh, Jesus-Christ-_bananas . . ." Alexandrea slapping her forehead with an open palm. This was, of course, a purely McKay random blunt statement which she often spurted out when extremely frustrated. Fred had once compiled a list of Alex-isms, and __'Jesus-Christ-bananas' was high on it, along with such standbys as __'Son of a Pianist', __'Holy Mother on a Hot Tin Roof', and __'Shakespeare on the Loo'._

"Sing it again, sister," Lee started to poke fun, but was interrupted by a small voice coming from the open door.

"Mum says that dinner's ready," Ginny Weasley had poked her head in from around the corner. "And that Fred and George better not be feeling sorry for themselves."

"You lot all go ahead," Fred said as a mysterious grin split across his face. "George and I will be along in a minute.'

The two older Hogwartians got up and stepped out into the hall, but Alexandrea paused for a second in the hall and turned around.

"Please you two, for the love of all that is Quidditch, _please don't pull anything crazy."_

Fred and George said nothing, but simultaneously blew innocent kisses towards Alexandrea, who returned the favour by rolling her eyes and leaving with Lee and Ginny down the stairs. Harry and Ron, however, stayed behind.

"You two aren't really planning anything, are you?" Harry raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Because, if you are, I better send an owl to St. Mungoes," Ron warned. "You'll absolutely give Mum a seizure if you pull anything tonight."

The Weasley twins exchanged identical evil grins that would make Satan himself quiver with fear.

"Now, my dear, sweet, little brother . . . . Have you ever known us to be that devious?"

"Er . . . . Never mind. Don't answer that question . . . ."

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_Author's Random Notes In Which She Would Love Everyone To Read_

_Hello, all! I'd just like to thank every one of you who has read this far. And, extra bonus points to you if you left a **review. Yes, that's right: ****REVIEWS. We all know they're out there, somewhere; and we all know we have to deal with them sometime in our lives, which leads me today's lesson: ****Make an author happy and review a story. It would certainly make ****my day (Hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more . . . .)**_

_I hope you all continue on with this story. Believe me, it'll be all worth it in the end. (*Insert evil laugh here*). Now, I must apologize to each and every one of you for messing around with the Weasley twin's hair. I'M SORRY! I was a bit off, didn't have my morning tea to wake me up, and the hair thing just popped up and stayed there. Leave a post and tell me what you think. Also, **want to get involved in this story? ****Got some funny Alex-isms bubbling in back of your mind? Leave me a post or send me an owl and you'll see your Alex-ism (Along with your pen name. You get full credit, my friends) throughout this story.**_

_Well then, I must be off and finish the next chapter . . ._

_Cheers and All the Best!_

_PezMaster _


	5. To Forgive And Forget

_"I hope life isn't one big joke because I really don't get it."_

_                                 -- 'Deep Thoughts' by Jack Handey_

_"You think this is funny, don't you?"_

_"In a cosmic sort of way . . . yes . . ."_

_                                  -- From the play 'Caught in the Act'_

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Chapter 4

_To Forgive And Forget _

"Starkers. Both of them are bloody stark raving mad. I can't wait until they move out and start blowing themselves up on their own sweet time . . . far, far, away from me."

"You don't think they're going to pull anything else today, do you?"

"If they do, we'd better not stick around to see what happens afterwards. My Mum'll pull out their livers and serve it to them on a dinner tray with a side of laxative-laced chicken."

Harry and Ron made slowly made their way down the staircase from the second landing as they discussed the trials and tribulations of Fredrick and George Weasley. Before Harry could comment on how well the ColourMints would sell at Hogwarts as is, two voices floated up from the kitchen, both deeply engrossed in a conversation. 

"Are you absolutely sure? I mean, the whole thing seems _very unlikely."_

"I know what I'm talking about. Heard it strait from the Department of Magical Education this morning. I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking this time, I really don't."

"He must see something in the boy that everyone else looked over. Dumbledore has an exceptionally strong judge of character, you know. Remember two years ago? With that Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Oh, what's his name?"

"Lupin was a completely different matter all together. At least _he had some vague idea of what he was talking about. But this time Dumbledore hired an irresponsible, immature, __drunk nutter—"_

"Oh, now, I wouldn't go _that far."_

"Do I even have to mention that mess of trouble he got into when he—"

"Percy, stop it right now. He's almost _family, for God's sake."_

"Who's almost family?" Ron asked, stepping off the last step into the kitchen. Harry came closely behind, finding that the two voices had belonged to Mr. Weasley and Percy, who both jumped back in surprise as they suddenly found two extra people in the room with them. Mr. Weasley was the first to recover, adjusting a Muggle cap on top of his head.

"Oh, _Harry!" he said, obviously trying to tangent his son from the subject at hand. "So glad to see you back with us again. How was—"_

"I asked you a question, Dad," Ron interrupted, knowing perfectly well what his father was trying to do. "_Who's almost family?"_

"None of your business, _Ronald," Percy snapped, putting a certain emphasis on his brother's name to indicate extreme irritation. "This is a conversation between father and I. Now, if you don't mind . . ."_

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Ron as he and Harry turned to leave the kitchen. "You don't have to tell _us twice."_

As the two boys walked into the garden and out of earshot of Mr. Weasley and Percy's own devices, Harry couldn't help but raise a puzzled eyebrow at the whole situation.

"Who do you reckon they were talking about?" he asked.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't even give the whole thing a second thought," he advised, sending a little indignant glare back towards the kitchen. "Percy's always bringing rumours home from work. One time he claimed that Lucius Malfoy was going to take over the Headmaster job from Dumbledore."

"What a dream come true," Harry remarked, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. "No such luck, huh?"

"Thank God, no. I would get Mum and Dad to ship me off to Durmstrang if _that ever happened," Ron said. "then it would be so easy to throw myself off an iceberg and make it look like an accident," he snorted thickly. "Imagine if that really did happen? A __Malfoy in charge of Hogwarts?"_

"I'd go up North with you," Harry vowed, "and jump off a glacier."

~*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ~

At exactly seven 'o clock that night, Harry, Lee, Alexandrea, and five members of the Weasley family were seated outside along the lengthy, wooden table; Mrs. Weasley's mouth-watering cooking sat steaming in front of them, quite ready to be eaten. Just days ago, Harry had almost resorted to eat his godfather's rat and dirt filled tarts. Now, he was sitting with the closes he'd ever had to a loving family while enjoying mountains of roast beef, garlic potatoes, and lemon grass green beans. Since Ron, who sat besides him, was drawn into a deep disagreement about the Chudley Cannons new Keeper with Alexandrea and Lee, Harry could not help but turn his attention slightly in the direction of Percy and Mr. Weasley.

". . . oh yes, Mr. Fudge had quite a difficult time to finding someone to fill Crouch's position," Percy was saying pompously. "All he could dig up was a part time replacement, Brinker Hadley."

"Hadley?" Mr. Weasley pondered on the name for a moment, pulling the Muggle cap tighter onto his head. "Didn't Hadley play for the Falmouth Falcons a while back?"

Percy nodded. "Got thrown off years ago. I believe the official call was 'Improper Use of a Beater's Club'. The Falmouth fans where none to pleased about it. They wanted to give the man some sort of award . . . . Anyway, I'll tell you, father-- Fudge has gone down hill ever since the second primaries last year. First Bagman and now Hadley. Thick-headed, uneducated Quidditch players whose hobbies consist and are limited to cobbing the living daylights out of people are taking over the Ministry!"

"Oh, Percy, now maybe you're being a bit too judgemental on the whole thing," Mr. Weasley reflected. "Hadley seems to have great character, never mind all that nonsense with the Quidditch suspension. I seem to remember him from somewhere—spoke at a banquet, he did, for Riley—" he stopped suddenly in mid sentence, as if he had just caught himself from saying something which would be inappropriate for the time being.

"Riley who?" Percy mused lightly, though he sounded not the least bit interested.

"No one, no one. Just an old friend," Mr. Weasley seemed to lower his voice significantly as he changed the subject at hand. "Percy, have you heard anything Amos Diggory's side of the fence lately?"

Percy cleared his throat, trying to create an air of importance around him. "No. Nothing at all. I imagine he's taking some much needed time off, though."

"Yes, of course. What with all the poor man has been through," Mr. Weasley's voice had suddenly been flooded with the tone of sadness and a dash of pity. His eyes flickered towards Harry, Ron, Lee, Alexandrea, and Ginny. "And what with all everyone else went through as well.'

Harry turned towards his fellow Hogwartians, wondering if anyone else had heard Mr. Weasley's comment. The others, however, were still engaged in conversation, talking as if Quidditch was the only thing in life worth living for.

"Goblins by a landslide," Lee announced, wiping his mouth clear of crumbs with his sleeve. "They absolutely flattened the Cannons in the semi-finals."

"The Cannons _always get flattened," Alexandrea commented thickly, triggering an indigent snort from Ron. "Even the Slytherins could take them on and smear the pitch with them."_

"Chudley is just in a slump, a bad streak," Ron said defensively. "That's all."

"Chudley's bad streak has been going on for 110 years, Ronniekinns," Alexandrea remarked airily. "Now, the Meteorites—they're a whole different story, my friend. Got the power, the skill, and one damn good looking Keeper, may I add."

Lee rolled his eyes in complete and utter disgust. "So Moosejaw's going to win because they have a couple of handsome blokes on there team? Al . . . get over yourself, beautiful. The Goblins have Marcov Wronski on their side. _Josef Wronski's third nephew twice removed."_

"He may have the name, but the bloody piker _still couldn't catch a Snitch if it was enlarged five times and then flew up his arse," Alexandrea said, carelessly balancing a spoon on the bridge of her nose. "Now, Scotty Stevens - - __there's a world class Seeker for you." Looking quite absurd with the spoon still on her nose, she turned to gather Harry's opinion. "So, what do you think, Mr. Gryffindor-Seeker-Underlord? Stevens over Wronski?"_

"Er . . ." was all that Harry could come up with.

"Ah, can't follow Quidditch while your with the Muggles, can you?" Ron said, his voice holding a hint of sympathy for his sheltered friend. "The finals for the first annual International Quidditch League Cup are coming up. The British and Irish League gave out an invitation to the other clubs from all over the world to come and compete in a sort of exhibition. Dad told us that it's all a hair-brained scheme by the Ministry to get more foreign tourists to visit. Anyway, only three teams from England cared enough to enter this year; pity we didn't get through to the finals, though." 

"What happened to them?" Harry asked eagerly, wishing that the Dursleys had at least allowed him to read the sporting page off of the _Daily Prophet. Of course all wizarding news, Quidditch or no, was completely forbidden from the house on 14 Privet Drive._

"It was the Arrows, Cannons, and Wasps in the start," Ron began to explain between mouthfuls of food. "The Cannons lost to the Grodzisk Goblins, three hundred and ninety to thirty."

"I never even thought it was possible to lose _that badly," Lee commented lightly. _

"It wasn't _their fault that their Keeper was half tanked," Ron retorted. "Anyways, Appleby got beaten by the Patonga Proudsticks of Uganda; bloody hell, they came out of no where, let me tell you. Oh, and the Wasps were absolutely mowed down by the Wollongong Warriors."  _

"So, since the Meteorites smeared the Warriors around the pitch, they're facing Grodzisk for the League Cup," Lee finished, taking a great gulp out of his cup of cinnamon-apple cider. "They're playing in the old colonies now, since the Meteorites gained the home-pitch advantage, and everything. Quite ironic, if you ask me. All the Ministry wanted was a little publicity for England and now the finals are an ocean away and the Cup's going to another country."

"I didn't even know North America had any Quidditch teams," admitted Harry.

Alexandrea snorted abruptly, causing the spoon on her nose to fly forward, landing in Ginny's green beans. " Do you live in a bloody _bubble, Potter? Sacrificial Hamster on a Roasting Spit! Of __course North America plays Quidditch!"_

Lee laughed, watching Harry's reaction to Alexandrea's outburst. "You're such a huge prat, Al," he commented. "I'm friends with the only girl on the island who cheers for a foreign team. Not to mention a foreign team from _North America; home of those thick-headed berks with the most annoying accents known to man. They even make the __French look like bloody English scholars."_

"Fine, I'll agree about the think-headed part, but they're accents have absolutely nothing to do with the way they play Quidditch," Alexandrea shot a glare at Lee, as if daring him to say anything else. "You know perfectly well that my family has been cheering for the Meteorites even since they first took off from the pitch. It's a tradition that's been passed down through generations."

"Generations of absolute loonies, may I add," Ron commented. "And _you thought __I was pathetic because my team's the Cannons. You've got the lot that can't play a decant game without causing the other team to bleed internally."_

Alexandrea arched an eyebrow. "And that's a  . . . _bad thing?" _

Several more exchanges of strong words past through Ron and Alexandrea as the sky began to darken. By time Mr. Weasley began to conjure up some small tea candles to light up the garden, Alexandrea had forgotten all about Ron and was now busy dealing with Lee. Harry, who had glanced down the table, could not help but notice that Mrs. Weasley hadn't been as talkative as usual. One hand still held the top of her baby blue towel/turban tightly, while the other played with the loan green-bean which had been on her plate for hours. Her eyes had been locked on the two empty seats across from Lee all night.

Seats that should have been filled by Fred and George.

"Wonder what they're up to," Harry murmured to himself more to anyone else.

Ron mused over his friends comment for a while. "Have no idea," he said finally. Then, his face suddenly brightened as he looked over at the back entrance of the Burrow. "But I think we'll find out soon enough."

The Weasley twins had just exited the kitchen and were presently making their way across the garden towards the dinner table. They supported a large serving plate between them which carried a monstrous cake covered with a turquoise frosting. Everyone stared in awe and slight fear as Fred and George set the cake in front of Mrs. Weasley.

"Boys, what in—"

"Look, Mum," George interrupted, running a hand over his blue hair as if he was not yet used to it. "Fred and I have decided that we're done some pretty . . . . er, luridly stupid things in the past."

"And we've also decided that you deserve something for putting up with us for seventeen excruciatingly long years," finished Fred. Then, with a mysterious grin, he took out his weathered wand and waved it over the top of the cake.

All eyes turned towards the turquoise baked good as it started to shake violently. Without warning, it exploded, maliciously plastering everyone with coloured frosting.

"Oops," Fred looked as flabbergasted as everyone else. A bit of sugary icing slid off his nose and dropped into Percy's cup of rosemary tea. "Erm . . . that _really wasn't suppose to happen . . . ."_

Mrs. Weasley, who had seemed to have gotten the worst of the exploding cake, stared down at the large, now empty serving plate which Fred and George had carried their 'present' on. Harry saw a small, battered, old wizarding photograph of a much younger looking Molly Weasley. In her arms she held two red-faced, newborn babies who were, at the time, zealously pulling on each other's ear lobes.

"Oh . . . my boys!" Mrs. Weasley's eyes were soon thick with tears. She pulled Fred and George into such a tight hug that they seemed to have quite a hard time breathing.

"Mum—Mum, you're suffocating us—"

"Need . . . air . . . Smothering . . . . to  . . . . death . . . ."

"All those horrible things I said to you!" Mrs. Weasley cried. "I threatened and yelled . . . and then you—you went up to the attic and found . . . found your _baby __pictures!" All emotions flooding forward like a collapsed dam, she suddenly burst into a fit of heavy tears._

"Now, Molly. It's perfectly alright," Mr. Weasley had quite a hard time prying the twins away from Mrs. Weasley's head-lock. "Let's all forgive and forget, shall we?"

Mrs. Weasley, frosting still clinging to her face, looked back at the twins with motherly affection. "Fred . . . George . . . I forgive you for everything . . . For all the pranks, gags, and jokes—for my hair . . ."

"Her hair?" Harry questioned. He was left in doubt no longer for a great gust of wild wind blew across the garden. The flurry flung off Mr. Weasley's cap and Mrs. Weasley's towel, revealing their new hair styles (Bright pink and deep chartreuse) lovingly bestowed upon them courtesy of Fred and George's ColourMints.

"I told them not to test in the kitchen, the idiots. _'Anyone could waltz right in', I said," Alexandrea mumbled off-handily, placing another spoon on the bridge of her nose. "They never listen to me . . . ."_

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

_Now, reading over this for the umpteenth time, I shamefully realize that this chapter is quite similar to a chapter in GoF. All I can consol you with is the fact that this is a total coincidence and that it shall never happen again. Believe me, this story will take off on its own, leaving the cannon books far behind. Please be patient and you shall be rewarded with a wickedly humorous story with a underlying dark meaning._

_Now then, I must mention that this chapter's Alex-ism ("Sacrificial Hamster on a Roasting Spit!") was provided by my amigo **Brynne via e-mail, who has written several funny pieces of fan fiction about Percy. If you have a witty Alex-ism floating around in the back of your mind (and I know you all do), please send me an owl, e-mail, or leave it in your review. Thanks you for reading! Remember to leave me a review so I can bow down at your feet for a eternity.**_

_Much Love from Pezzie_


	6. The Dreams

_Ha! Finally, I finished this bad boy. It took me bloody long enough, didn't it? Ah, well, hopefully this is up to your lots' standards. And hopefully you don't cringe as you see this pitiful OC burst into the plot like a melodramatic ex-Broadway actor. Things will get better, my mates. I promise you._
    
    _Oh, and lots of love goes out to both the PGU and the PRANK guild. Without you lot and your influences, I may actually be considered sane._
    
    _This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to __Bloomsbury__ Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  Alexandrea McKay is a figure of my imagination. Please don't kidnap her._

_"I'm telling you, psychic visions aren't real! If they were, why don't those TV psychics quit their act and play the lottery?"_

_                                   -- Kate, from the play 'Absolute Murder!'   _

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**Chapter 5**

_The Dreams_

When everyone finally reached the inside of the Burrow and had then proceeded to wipe themselves clean of all the excess turquoise frosting, nobody felt much like sleeping. Mrs. Weasley reluctantly broke down her motherly instincts and served out cups of hot coco as George unearthed some spare Filibuster Fireworks and, with the help of Lee, set them off in the living room in a small fit of pre-bedtime chaos. Fred and Alexandrea lay together on one of the overstuffed couches and amused themselves by flinging Exploding Snap cards at the back of Percy's head; at one point they set a bet on how many cards it took to cause Percy to mentally snap and strangle them both in a fit of psychopathic rage. Just as Ron began to describe the Cannons' miserable loss to the Goblins to Harry, Ginny fell asleep with her head on the table, tipping a vase full of carnations. The water spread quickly over the wooden table and caused a few of George's spare fireworks to set off and singe Percy's eyebrows clean off. It was at this point which Mrs. Weasley made all the late night activities screech to a halt and insisted that everyone go to bed. 

Alexandrea hauled up the drowsy Ginny to the girls' bedroom as Fred, George, and Lee bid everyone a cheery good night and trotted up to the second landing. Ron led Harry to his room and, instead of going strait to sleep, they sat on Ron's musty old bedroom carpet and began to discuss how to force feed Draco Malfoy a ColourMint. It was only until a very peeved Percy Weasley came bursting into the room, telling them off for being so loud that Harry and Ron got into their beds and turned off the light.

~*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ~

_Two figures walked across the dewy Quidditch pitch, laughing and talking as though they hadn't a care in the world. Their surreal dream world came flying to a halt when, slowly, the earth beneath them began to quake in rumbling waves, splitting the ground in half. A monstrous cloaked figure rose from what seemed to be the very depths of hell. Without warning, a blinding green light flooded the field and the world around it, ripping through everything in its path._

_Then the screaming started._

_The blood curdling screams of the dying . . . ._

Harry suddenly woke with a start, clamping a hand over his mouth so that he wouldn't yell out. It took him several heart-pounding seconds to discover that he had had the nightmare again. It had all seemed so frighteningly real, as if he was physically there on the Quidditch pitch amongst the two dying children. And, even though he was awake, he could still hear the horrible screaming.

It was then he realized it wasn't a dream after all.

"Ron? _Ron?" Harry jumped out of bed and started to shake his friend, desperately trying to awaken him. "Something's wrong - - Someone's in trouble - -"_

Ron's sleepy eyes shot wide open. He, too, heard the loud screams of terror coming from within the Burrow. "Ginny," he said hoarsely, going deathly pale. "It's coming from Ginny's room!"

The two boys raced down the stairs, bolting through the hall to Ginny's doorway. They found that the twins and Lee had arrived before them, staggered in the doorway while an air of confusion past around all three. Harry stepped into the room, brushing past George and Lee as he went, in order to take the whole situation in for a moment. It was soon evident that Ginny had not been the one who had screamed.

Alexandrea McKay was stooped down on the fold-out bed, receiving a deep, brotherly hug from Fred. Her dark eyes were glazed thickly; not looking as though she had been crying but as if she was utterly terrified. As pale as a white linen sheet, Alexandrea stared outwards, fixated on something far beyond them all.

"They're dead," her voice came out as a strengthless whisper, her lips barely making any effort to form the words. "Dead before they had a chance to live– they were our only hope, but . . . but they're _dead."_

Fred's eyes darted quickly over his friend's ghostly face, looking as though Alexandrea had just pronounced his death sentence. "Settle down, Alex," he mumbled. "It's alright . . . no one's dead . . . _nothing will hurt you . . . just settle down."_

"What happened?" Harry finally managed to ask.

"I heard her talking in her sleep," answered Ginny, who was still seated on her bed, her legs folded up to her chest. "She screamed and then started . . . _babbling like this."_

"Fred, Lee, and I all heard it too," added George, his glance not moving from where Alexandrea sat.

"All but one. There's still one left," Alexandrea's eyes widened and her breathing started to quicken as she continued on. "Three of them are dead—_only three . . . . One is still alive. He'll kill all four - - Oh __God!" her head jerked violently away from Fred's chest as her dark eyes connected with Harry's. Something twisted fiercely inside Harry, causing him to stumble away from Alexandrea in a fit of brief fear. "__We're all going to die."_

Before anyone had a chance to reply to this outlandish behaviour, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came bursting into the bedroom, looking around to see if anyone was being murdered or bleeding profusely. Seeing that no one was on their death bed, Mrs. Weasley pieced together the puzzle and figure out what had fully happened.

"Alexandrea, dear. What—"

"It's _fine now. I mean, __I'm fine," like the dawn after a storm, Alexandrea's eyes instantly cleared. She quickly got up, moving away from Fred as if she was embarrassed to be seen sitting next to him. "Just a bad dream. No need for me to get bloody melodramatic over it. It's all done and over with now."_

Mrs. Weasley bit her lower lip, still looking far from convinced. "You screamed so loud, honey, we thought — Oh, why don't you come downstairs and I'll give you a sleeping draught?"

"I'm alright. _Honestly, I am," Alexandrea pressed, her voice finally returning back to its hard, regular tone. All of the colour was beginning to flow back into her face; she even managed a slight smile. "I'm sorry I woke everyone up. It was all just some berkish nightmare."_

A deep scepticism swept across Fred's pale face. "Are you sure?" he questioned. "Didn't sound very berk—" 

"Right, then! Which way did the burglar go?" a voice behind interrupted fiercely before Fred had a chance to question Alexandrea further. Everyone glanced back to see Percy staggered in the doorway, half asleep, holding a large metal frying pan over his head.

"There's no burglar, Percy. Go back to bed," Mr. Weasley said, yawning widely. "And that goes for the whole lot of you."

Muttering under their breath, the twins and Lee bid a bitter good night to everyone but Alexandrea (who refused to make eye contact with anyone) and slid out of the room. Harry and Ron followed them down the hall and back up the stairs, where they were rudely held up by Fred, who stopped the other four boys by holding a hand out to block the way.

"Don't you lot find that all slightly starkers?" he asked quietly, nodding back towards Ginny's room.

"No," George replied bluntly as he tried to stifle an overenthusiastic yawn. "Between exploding cakes and our parents' hair, that utterly belongs in out little house of complete chaos."

"Kick off, George," Fred said harshly, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "For once in our lives, let's try to be serious."

Ron let out a snort. "_This coming from Fred . . . hell must be freezing over as we speak."_

"I'll have to admit that all of it was a bit strange, even for Alex," Lee commented. "It must have one hell of a nightmare, though; nothing scares that girl. Erm, except cockroaches . . . and a lot of blood . . .oh, and those freaky little ventriloquist dummies—" 

"Thanks for covering all the basics, Lee," George took the time to roll his eyes before sending his twin a suspicious glance. "Why are you so concerned about it, Freddy-boy? We've all had nightmares that scared us at one time or another."

"It wasn't the nightmare that has me worried," Fred dismissed the idea immediately. "It was what she said _afterwards. Did you hear her? __'We're all going to die' . . . that's what she said. __'We're all going to die'. Alex wouldn't go out on a limb and threaten out lives like that. Something's definitely off with her."_

George smirked. "It took you _seventeen years to figure that out?" he asked. "Honestly Fred, I love Al to death, but I'll be the first to admit that she's slightly unbalanced in the head."_

Before anyone could agree, Percy came storming into the hall, frying pan still in hand, and threaten to beat them all within a centimetre of their lives if they didn't go back to bed that very moment. Because they were all one step away from total exhaustion, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Lee reluctantly decided to heed Percy's empty threat. They all dispersed into their bedrooms, climbed back into bed, and tried to get some much needed sleep.

"No matter what George says, that was _not something you see everyday," Ron mumbled, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Alex? Scared to dead of a nightmare and then spurting out death wishes? Sounds more like something Trelawney would do."_

"Maybe we should ask her about it in the morning," Harry suggested. 

"Why bother?" Ron took a seat on the foot of his bed, looking up and Harry. "It's not as if Alexandrea McKay is going to bring the bloody Apocalypse or anything. Unlike yours, her nightmares don't mean a thing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean '_unlike mine'?"_

Ron blinked, taking a second to think. "Well, you know," he started awkwardly. "You've always had . . . . _dreams about You-Know-Who before he shows up. Most of the time, the nightmares you tell me and Hermione about really do come true."_

Biting his lower lip, Harry sat on his own bed and looked back at his friend. He had thought about telling Ron about the nightmare he himself had been having recently, but now he frowned on it. No use on calling excess panic on this already staggered Weasley.

"I hope I didn't make you mad, or anything," Ron grinned sheepishly. "But, with all of this stuff going, I just—"

"No need to worry about, Ron," Harry said with a slight smile. "You right, though. I shouldn't think twice about it all." He paused, and then added jokingly, "These things happen to me, not Alex." 

Ron nodded, laying down in bed and tossing off some of the warm, wool blankets. "I'll bet good money that no one's going to be dead tomorrow."

Harry chuckled, lying down as well. "Because only _I could predict something like that," he said sarcastically_

"Right. You or Trelawney."

"Exactly."

"Harry? Suppose you had a dream about Malfoy falling off a really tall cliff—"

"I'm not dreaming about Malfoy, Ron. It would be too disturbing."

"Don't blame you. G'night."

"'Night Ron."

The lights, deciding that the two occupants of the room were ready to turn in, flickered out leaving the room in darkness. Harry, however, couldn't help but stay awake for some time, staring blankly at the slanted ceiling while listening to the sound of Ron's soft snoring. Two horrible nightmares in one night couldn't have been some once-in-a-bloody-life-time coincidence. No, Harry decided finally, no matter what Ron said, something was definitely happening. Something that he himself could never prevent. Something was going to come to the mortal world, bringing the unholy Apocalypse with it.

Suddenly realizing how extremely irrational he sounded, Harry rolled onto his side, pulled his blanket up to his chest, and closed his eyes tight. "I'm going crazy," he murmured.

_'Of course you are, honey,' replied a small voice in the back of his mind. __'Now stop talking to yourself and go to sleep.'_

~*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * ~

Coming back to Wales was something of a homecoming for her. She had been born and raised on the island and, during her early years, had never bothered to look beyond it. This was where her _true family was. Her son had sprouted from here, as did her daughter; and her husband –_

Her husband was, of course, a different matter altogether.

She had been called back to this fine country on a burst of urgency from the Ministry of Magic. When they had first requested her to come back, she promptly told them all to stick their heads up each others' arses and then roll themselves down the nearest hill. As if not fully grasping the hint, the Ministry kept pelting the poor woman with letter after letter, asking her to at least meet with their Main Council. Finally giving in to their pathetic child-like plea, she arrived in Southern Wales the next day, Apparating right on top of the Minster's desk.

Minster Cornelius Fudge greeted the woman with a string of curse words which he tried to hold under his breath. She replied by transfiguring his new orange bowler hat into a woodchuck. 

When all of the pleasantries were over and done with, Fudge dug right into business:

"The oracle is alive again."

There was an awkward pause. The woman then burst out with a loud overenthusiastic laugh. "Spot on, Fudge," she said with a large snort. "Tell me another."

"I'm serious," the Mister frowned darkly. "It was on display in Manchester when it became active again, spewing out prediction after prediction."

"That bloody thing should have been thrown into the Sound years ago," she muttered bitterly. "What nonsense is it coming up with _this time? Is a Death Eater going to come in here and turn your desk into an armadillo?"_

Fudge frown deepened. He was already growing tired of this woman's antics. "It talks of the . . . the _Saviours constantly," he said. "Plural. As in more then one Saviour." _

She sniffed, wide-eyed. "And you _believe –- That thing must have broken fifteen years ago when I threw it against the wall in Crouch's office."_

Fudge raised a suspicious eyebrow. "So you're not going to believe anything it says? You think the oracle is _wrong?"_

"You're wasting my good time, Fudge," she answered flatly, hopping off the Minster's dishevelled desk. "I have what's left of my family to look after. If you're going to keep me here and pelt me with the same flying shit the Ministry's been pelting me with for the past twenty years then I might as well do both you and I a favour and walk out of here right now."

"Your job has blinded you yet again," Fudge replied, his hands curling into tight fists. This woman had a way of really pushing his buttons. "If what the oracle is predicting actually comes true then—" 

"Then we'll all sit on our arses nicely and greet it when it comes."

Last nerve shattering like a pane of cheep glass, Fudge struck one of his clenched fists on the top of his desk. "The oracle has gained _contact with two others!"_

The woman paused at the doorway. What ever curse or retort she was going to blurt out got caught in the back of her throat. "Con — C_ontact?" she sputtered. _

Fudge nodded solemnly, glad that he had finally gained control over the woman. "With two or three people total. We don't know who or even where. That's why the Ministry called _you in."_

She snorted, more in disbelief then in sarcasm. "_Me? You think __I know what that half-arse oracle is throwing together? Do you think that, at this point in my life, I would care?"_

"Is that it? We're reaching out to you and you push back out support?" Fudge burst. "You're the last one left. The last of your kind. When the other three past away—"

"When the others past away, as you so lightly put it, _I was left alone. Without friends or family; scared out of my mind," the woman's dark eyes flashed with the mentality of a cornered jungle cat. "You took them away from me! You made me an outcast, the Ministry's dirty little secret, and now you expect me to bend to your every request?"_

"We tried to help you!" Fudge pressed. "The Ministry supported everything you four did . . . up until Reilly died. That man made his own mistakes we couldn't—"

"Minister," she interrupted, leaning forward so that she was almost nose to nose with Fudge. "_Wank off." _

Fudge's broken nerves were set aflame. "_GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"_

"With deep pleasure," she smirked wildly. "So sorry my family and I are such a burden to you, Fudgie. Maybe you'll feel better when the Ministry wipes us off the face of the earth."

"I'll welcome the day," Fudge sneered. "Now get _out!"_

"I hope you make friends with the oracle soon," the woman said, walking out of the office and through the door, "because one of its contacts is quite pissed off."

The door slammed behind her, reflecting the anger she had gusted out. Cornelius Fudge was left sitting behind his desk, hands cupping his face in complete frustration.

"What have I done?" he murmured to himself. "_What have I done?"_

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *


	7. Visit from Phiona Love

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous (06/?)  
**Author name:** PezMaster  
**Author email:** cshrumm@yahoo.com  
**Category:** Humor  
**Sub Category:** Action/Adventure  
**Keywords:** Burrow Wealseys McKay Phiona  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, My other work on Riddikulus, 'Party Animals'  
**Summary:** After an evening full of nightmares and death threats, Harry wakes up in the Burrow thinking that nothing else could possibly go wrong. Soon, however, he meets up with a frizzy-haired stranger who has the power to turn everything upside-down. Are you ready to raise some serious hell?  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All the members of the McKay family are figments of my imagination, so they belong to me. The ideas behind the Cortemach seeds are from the combined sparks of SpamWarrior's 'Insanity' series and my History Professor. The latter says I'm crazy. Who'd blame him, though?  
**Author notes:** Wow. I haven't worked on this piece for a while and I'm regretting it. 'Gem of Grogonous' is a monster, but an extremely amusing monster nonetheless. From now on, I'm sticking with it, so I hope you will as well. So, why don't you start reading as well as reviewing now?  
Cheers and All the Best!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_"_Sooner or later, we all quote our mothers."__

_                                   -- __Bern__ Williams_

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**Chapter 6**

_Visit from Phiona Love_

The morning was absolutely perfect. Birds that had just awoken were twittering softly with each other while taking their places on the branches of dew ridden trees. Faint grey light shone through Ron's window, product of morning stars which were still hanging onto the sky. It was almost as if Harry was placed in a scenic oil painting; no sound could taint such a lovely landscape of the English country side. 

**_"RON!"_**

****

Harry winced as Mrs. Weasley's bellow hit his ear drums then continued to bounce around the room. Ron groaned melodramatically as his head suddenly appeared out from underneath a mass of wool blankets.

"_What_?" he yelled back blearily.

"Make sure Harry's awake! You've all got to eat breakfast!"

Ron groaned again, not believing what he was hearing, and let his head flop back down on his pillow. "Mum, we've got loads of time!"

"Oh no, you don't! Now hurry it up, the both of you!"

Breathing a great sigh of defeat, Ron slid backwards out of bed until only his feet were sprawled across his mattress. "There you are, Harry," he said lazily. "She's gone completely off of her onion, but there you are."

Harry mumbled some non-cohesive words of agreement, but rose out of bed all the same. Leaving Ron to sift through a pile of laundry in search of a pair of matching socks, Harry wandered sleepily down the creaking staircase and into the Weasleys' kitchen. 

"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," he said blindly.

"Morning to yourself, honey. But, unfortunately, Molly's a little caught up at the moment. Insisted to run out back and retrieve the forks I buried. God knows the last place she'll look will be by the manure pile, next to all her spoons."

The stranger's voice finally snapped Harry out of his little dream world. He dug his glasses out from his pocket and jammed them on his face. The person sitting at the kitchen table certainly wasn't Mrs. Weasley; a wiry little witch was perched upon the tallest stool at the head of the weathered table. Her robes were far from new, containing so many patches that hardly any of the original material showed through. The condition of her robes were only rivalled by her hair, which was so chaotic Harry wondered if the witch had even used a comb or brush in her life. Extremely frizzy and flyaway, the witch's hair was scattered with careless braids and sprinkled lightly by silver strains. 

"Hullo," said the scrawny witch as she grinned kindly. For the first time, she caught Harry's glance with eyes so dark in colour, they made black look like a pleasant pastel. Harry could have sworn that fireworks were constantly being set off in the witch's brain, causing that lively flash which set off her pupils. 

"Er . . ." was the most decent reply Harry could form at the moment. 

The off patch of silent was cut quite short by several loud and bewildered gasps from the top of the stairs. Ron, Fred, George, and Lee were crowded in behind Harry, each one of them completely stunned, as if they had all seen some terrific apparition. The wiry witch sitting at the kitchen table grinned wildly, her eyes flashing mysteriously once more, and then somewhat lazily lobbed a piece of toast slathered with orange marmalade at the four speechless boys. The flying breakfast food hit George square on the forehead and stuck there, but he was so bewildered that he didn't seem to notice.

The witch's smile grew even wider, as impossible as it seemed. "What?" she said as a blob of marmalade slipped down George's chin and onto Lee's head. "Do I have a bogie hanging from my nose?"

Someone answered by uttering a very undignified gagging noise, sounding more dumbfounded then the other four boys combined. Alexandrea had just made an appearance behind Ron's left shoulder, her wide eyes connecting with the little witch

"M . . . Mmmm . . . _Mum?"_

"Oh, for the love of cobbing," the witch commented thickly, rolling her eyes. "Quit gawking at me like I'm going to keel over and give me a hug, already."

Ron, Lee, Alexandrea, and the twins nearly bowled Harry over on their way into the kitchen. The scrawny witch embraced them all, planting kisses on each of their foreheads while chattering energetically. 

"Oh Dear God, Ron! What on earth has Molly been feeding you? Soon, we'll have to use you as a Muggle telephone pole . . . Lee, ah, stuck with those dreadlocks, eh? Well, it's your head, honey. Be as crazy as you want to be . . . Fred? George? You're both one yard away from handsome, if I do say so myself. I thoroughly enjoyed what you did with your parents' hair. Though, I personally would have gone with the hot pink . . . And there's my Alexandrea, my dear little _themos_. You've grown up so much!"

Harry stood back and watched the little reunion, slightly bemused. He coughed into his sleeve, finally catching the attention of Ron, who grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to the front of the table.

"Harry," Ron said, doing his best to provide a cohesive introduction. "This is Phiona, Alex's mum."

"That I am." The little witch gave a wink, offering a hand to Harry, who took it and winced under the pressure of her grip. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Potter."

Having no idea where or when they had met previously, Harry replied, "Pleased to meet you Mrs. McKay," and breathed a little sigh of relief as the witch released his hand. He had to flex his fingers to make sure nothing was broken.

"Erm . . . it's _Love, honey." Phiona's crooked smile faded slightly. "Phiona Love. Didn't change my maiden name when I got hitched. In fact, lets just sick with Phiona, nice and simple like. If you think about it long enough, McKay's quite a humorous last name. Should be stomped out before anyone else gets stuck with the bugger."_

Alexandrea arched an eyebrow. "Thanks Mum."

"Sweetheart, I gave birth to you," Phiona Love said bluntly. "You need to pay me back with some form of amusement."

"You lot are so lucky to have a sane mother," Alexandrea murmured, her hands cupping her face.

"Sanity's overrated, honey." Phiona leaned back and placed her feet on top of the table.

"Oh, _Phiona_. Stop holding up the kids." Mrs. Weasley came storming back into the kitchen, her arms full with assorted utensils which she had just dug up from the garden. "They've got a Portkey to catch."

"Don't get your smalls in a bunch, Molls," Phiona replied. "I haven't seen the little cabbages in years."

"Well then, you can wait a few more days, can't you? And for Merlin's sake, please keep your feet off the table."

As Mrs. Weasley dumped the soiled silverware into the sink and began to tend to the eggs on the stove, Harry and his fellow Hogwartians took their places at the kitchen table. Alexandrea sunk into a seat next to her mother, who had grown tired of annoying Mrs. Weasley and so preceded  to construct a little model house out of sausages.

"What are you doing here?" Alexandrea asked, not sounding a bit pleased with her mother's sudden appearance. "I thought you'd be in Queensland by now. Degen wrote and said that they've been having trouble with a blind Opaleye."

"Ah, yes, well . . . Degen had something going on in Manchester. Have no idea what. You know the boy, gets into anything and everything," Phiona replied with no concern whatsoever as she began to devour the roof and chimney of her miniature sausage house. "So I decided to come down and fulfil my motherly duty; Seeing my daughter and favourite red-headed family while Degen's off in his own little world."

"Who's Degen?" Harry asked Ron, quite overwhelmed with this new leg of Alexandrea's family.

"That's Alex's big brother," said Ron, pouring himself a glass of juice. "Works with Charlie in the dragon field. A little too obsessed with the whole _'Save-The-Over-Grown, Man-Eating-Lizards'_ thing, if you ask me."

"Dragons are kind of the family business, honey. Goes back seven generations, excluding Uncle Doobie of course. Spent all his time experimenting with goats and petrol," Phiona gave Harry a wink. "The poor dear went and blew himself up in a freak livestock accident. But dragons . . . _dragons_ are probably the best thing you can get into if you crave a bit of excitement here and there. Why, just take a look at this little souvenir I got from a Fireball in Xing." She rolled up her sleeve revealing a fresh burn up her lower arm.

"Wicked!" exclaimed Lee and the twins.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, _Phiona!" Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that inopportune moment to turn around, caught sight of the festering wound and dropped her plate of eggs in utter disgust._

"Sorry, Molls." The wiry witch smiled, trying her best to look sheepish, and rolled her sleeve back down.

As Mrs. Weasley stormed out of the kitchen, mumbling something about childish behaviour under her breath, Fred finally took the time to peel the marmalade toast off his twin's forehead.

"Nice to see you again, Phiona," the fire-haired Weasley said cheerfully, taking a bite out of the piece of toast. "Now, do you happen to have anything extra for an. . . erm,  _memorable_ last year at Hogwarts for George, Lee, Al, and I?"

"Get strait down to business, don't you handsome?" Phiona gave Fred a wink and dug a hand into one of her many frayed pockets. She then dropped a handful of very bizarre-looking scarlet caplets on the table in front of Harry. "You lot will have quite a bit of unabridged fun with these. Cortemanch seeds. The Aurors used them years ago to help pick out traitors within the Ministry. Didn't work out too well, though; blew up a couple people, they did. Needless to say, they're, erm . . . contraband now. I managed to weed a few out for you kids."

"What do they do?" Harry asked the obvious question, his eyes locked on the tiny seeds in front of him.

"Well, when someone – erm, oh . . . hallo Molls."

Everyone quickly turned towards the kitchen entrance and caught sight of Mrs. Weasley standing at the door, frowning deeply at Alexandrea's mother as if she had done it a million times before.

"I hope you're not giving them anyone pranks, Phiona. They certainly don't need that sort of nonsense."

"Come off it, Molly," Phiona smiled and put her feet back on top of the table, right into the large plate of eggs. "It's a tradition! Every generation, the seventh years try to create as much chaos as humanly possible for their last hurrah." She sighed, as if daring to imagine the possibilities. "I remember _my_ last year of Hogwarts. My mates had a hard time keeping up. We claimed most of our better pranks '_accidents'_ so that we didn't get booted out of school. Oh, but all of it was worth it, my dears. Every bit."

"I heard that they're still cleaning up from it," Lee chortled.

"You should have seen the _explosion," Phiona started. "Took half of Hogwarts' dungeons with it. Something for you kids to live up to –"_

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly, interrupting Phiona Love before the frizzy-haired witch could continue on. "Phiona, for the love of God, don't plant any ideas in their heads," Mrs. Weasley pleaded. "They all get into enough trouble without you leading them on. Honestly, Phiona, I'm tired of you encouraging the children to break the rules just to – _TAKE YOU FEET OFF THE TABLE_!"

Before Phiona Love could throw back a retort, the harmless looking Cortemach seeds erupted into little balls of fire, plastering everyone and everything in the kitchen with flying breakfast food.

"Er . . . sorry 'bout that, Molls –"

Clenching her fists tightly, Mrs. Weasley's face steadily began to turn a dark maroon. "Everybody . . . _OUT!"_

Without having to be told twice, the six Hogwartians and Phiona Love bolted out of the kitchen, running as if the Devil himself was behind them wielding a pitchfork. They finally stopped outside the garden, causing a group of congregating lawn gnomes to scatter with fright.

"As I was going to say before we were so rudely interrupted, the seeds have that sort of effect when someone is thinking, shall we say, less than benevolent thoughts about someone else," Phiona explained to Harry and the others as she began to pick bits of eggs out of her throng of hair.

George raised a mused eyebrow. "So you're saying that our Mum wanted you to get mauled by a rabid hippogriff back there?"

"In a blunt sense, yes," Phiona grinned, the good humour absolutely beaming from her dark eyes. She began to dig through her pockets, producing a handful of the tiny Cortemach seeds for each Hogwartian. "And, if anyone asks, you didn't get these little buggers from me. In fact, we never met."

"Oh, of course," George winked, pocketing the gift for a later date. "Now, we have something for you."

"Chromatic Confections," announced Fred as he pulled out a little blue bag bursting with his and George's new product. "More commonly known as ColourMints."

"They were supposed to change faces different colours," continued George.

"But all they did was make people look like they dyed their hair while they were tanked out of their bloody minds," finished Fred.

"Oh, and they effect the people in the same general area as you, too."

"Psh. All that means is Georgie dropped too much aeroroot into the boiler."

"What can I say? My whole life is one big accident."

"ColourMints, eh?" Phiona took a candy out of the blue bag Fred had presented her with and eyed it closely. "You two are regular idiot savants."

Alexandrea chortled. "Take out the 'savant' part and your spot on."

"Here here!" Lee raised an imaginary glass in order to pay tribute to the toast.

"Put me down for that one, too," Ron decided to add a remark.

"You three wouldn't know a true twisted genius if one started to dance naked in front of you," Fred quickly shot back, crossing his arms.

Raising an eyebrow, Alexandrea snorted with disgust. "I think I'd notice if anyone danced in the buff, thank you very much." she sniffed.

"I certainly hope so," Phiona commented, the ends of her mouth twitching. "And anyways, Alexandrea, I'm surprised and utterly horrified that you don't give your friends more credit. If they keep coming up with these half-arse ideas, Fred and George'll give old Zonko a run for his money. I might even be forced to, erm, _edge, you into the Weasley family just so I could be related to these two berks."_

"What do you mean _edge into the Wesley fa — oh Christ." Alexandrea quickly picked up her mother's point and exchanged an alienating look with Fred and George. "Frankly, Mother, I'd rather kill myself."_

"Ouch, Al. You wound us." Fred smirked demonically and hooked arms with his disgruntled companion.

"I'll wound you even more if you continue to touch me."

Lee and Phiona Love snorted with laughter as Ron and Harry looked blankly at each other. This all was too psychopathic for cohesive words to explain.

Sensing that Harry and Ron weren't keeping up with all the randomness, Phiona began to nudge the boys back to the burrow. "Why don't you two run along and see if it's safe to go back inside," she suggested. "I still have to talk to your elders a little more. You understand, don't you?"

"Not at all," Ron replied bluntly. "But I don't think it's healthy for Harry and me to stay any longer."

"Spot on, handsome."

Ron rolled his eyes overenthusiastically as he and Harry started out of the garden and towards the leaning Burrow. Harry, however, couldn't help but give a glance back over his shoulder at Alexandrea's mother and the four older Hogwartians.

"Ron," he asked slowly, trying to choose his words carefully. "Is Mrs. Love a little . . . er, what I mean to say is – is she kind of –"

"Off of her onion?" Ron finished Harry's string of thoughts. "I suppose so. I mean, she's been acting like that since I've known her. She's always rambling on about how a sense of humour doesn't die just because you get older, it dies because other people kill it. Phiona's not giving hers up without a fight."

"Fred and George must think she's their Messiah," Harry smirked.

"They hero-worship the woman," Ron confirmed. "Which is kind of creepy. Fred and George love her more that Alex does."

"You're right," Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Alexandrea didn't seem too pleased that her Mum for a visit. You'd think that she'd be absolutely ecstatic . . ."

"Don't think into the McKay family too deeply, Harry," warned Ron. "I certainly try not to. That family is all a bit upside-down and backwards; I reckon even Alex doesn't like to talk about them.

As Ron opened the door to the Burrow, Harry ran his fingers across the seemingly harmless Cortemache seeds which lay in his pocket. Despite Phiona Love's almost untrustworthy character, Harry predicted that they were going to have quite a bit of fun with the strange woman's contraband seeds.     

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	8. Old Friends, Old Enemies

**Title:** Harry Potter and the Gem of Grogonous (07)  
**Author name:** PezMaster  
**Author email:** cshrumm@yahoo.com  
**Category:** Humor  
**Sub Category:** Action/Adventure  
**Keywords:** Weasley Hogsmeade camping McKay Sirius  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, My own work on Riddikulus, 'Party Animals'  
**Summary:** ~*~ Hey kids! Forget about OotP and sift through a 5th year story that refuses to kill off beloved characters! Read 'Gem of Grogonous' and praise Padfoot! ~*~  
A last summer hurrah takes Harry and his companions to the village of Hogsmeade. From a scandalous Portkey to a Zonko's shopping spree, the outlook of the vacation seems bright. Of course, all great things have a tendency to turn into complete and unabridged chaos, and the same plays true for this tale. The aura around Hogsmeade darkens as a spy, a convict, and a suspicion steps into play. Then, of course, we must take into account the lifeless body of a Gryffindor in the guilty arms of a Weasley . . .  
Oh my. Last summer hurrah, indeed.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Alexandrea McKay and Phiona Love are my creations. Do not steal, only praise.  
**Author notes:** After locking myself in my room for two days, eating, drinking, and sleeping OotP, my mind was set off on a rabid rollercoaster ride. I wanted to deal out some serious revenge for the wrongful death of our beloved Marauder. I went into Potter denial – Step One: Stare in awe at the last few pages of the book. Step Two: Sit in a dark corner and sob wildly. Step Three: Write fan fiction. I have finally hit the last phase of the OotP three-step program.  
I hope you enjoy this chapter. I certainly had fun cranking it out. Remember to be a kind reader and review!  
Oh, and I'm quite sorry about that cliff hanger at the end. I was feeling a bit evil and devious when I crafted it. (*Insert evil laughter here*)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_ "Friends will help you move furniture. Best friends will help you move bodies."_

_-- Anonymous_

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**Chapter 7**

_Old Friends, Old Enemies_

After final good-byes from Mrs. Weasley and the boisterous Phiona Love, Harry, Lee, Alexandrea, and the three Weasley brothers gathered their packs, tents, and other assorted camping essentials. The six Hogwartians finally set off down the dusty dirt path, skirting around the small village of St. Ottery Cadpole (which seemed to have more livestock in its population then people). Going up one of the village's only paved streets, Harry took in several of the Muggle shops, which included a tiny flower shop and a hole-in-the-wall pub whose weathered signed claimed it to be the _'Smiling Goat'._

At the end of the road, George motioned everyone into a corner alley right behind a small, make-shift town bakery.

"Right then." George yawned widely while itching the side of his nose. "Who's first in the dumpster?"

"In the _dumpster_?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean '_in the dumpster'_?"

"What do you think he means, Ronniekinns?" Fred threw his pack to the side and began to roll up the legs of his trousers. "We've got to find the Portkey. Should be around her somewhere."

"Well that's simply corking." Alexandrea rolled her eyes. "Knowing our luck, we'll miss the Portkey, get stuck in town, and be forced to sell Lee for some spare quid."

"I'm worth a bit more than pocket change, thank you very much," Lee said confidently.

"I highly doubt that."

"Al," George interrupted as he began sorting through a pile of old newspapers. "Could you stop crushing what's left of Lee's self-confidence for a moment and help look for the bloody Portkey?"

Before Alexandrea could shoot back a retort, Fred popped out of the near-by dumpster. "I think I found it," he announced, brandishing the Portkey out in front of him.

"A . . . _brassiere?" Ron took a small step back from the foreign object, his ears tingeing a light red._

"Ooo, very witty." Alexandrea arched an eyebrow, clearly not as amused as her male companions. "Right then, which one of you disturbed blokes has the lingerie fetish?"

"The question is," Fred stepped out of the dumpster, "who _doesn't_ have a fetish?"

The cornered female of the group rubbed the side of her face as Lee chuckled beside her. "I really need to stop associating with you, Fredrick," she muttered.

"Oh, Al." Fred flung an arm around his companion, dangling the Portkey in front of her. "You don't really mean that. We've tolerated each other for this long, so why stop? Can you say _'true friendship'_?"

"Can you say '_restraining order'?"_

"Touché."

"Well then, if you two are done thoroughly insulting each other," George scoffed, "may I remind everyone that the Portkey is a couple seconds away from leaving with us?"

"Georgie's right," Alexandrea snagged the Portkey away from Fred and held it out in front of her. "Listen up boys, because this is the first and last time I'm ever going to say this: Grab the bra and hold on."

"Oooo, my new goal in life is to make Al say that again!"

"Wank off, Fredrick."

"Love you too, beautiful."

After Fred dodged behind Harry in order to avoid a swat up-side the head, the six Hogwartians crowded around the old piece of woman's lingerie. They stood there in a tight clump for a moment or two, each one pondering how strange this would look if a Muggle came padding down the street. _'After all,'_ Harry mused with a sight grin on his face. _'It's not every day one could see six teenagers in a tight circle clutching a manky old brassiere.'_

Before he had a chance to ponder over the oddity any more, Harry felt that all too familiar jerk in his stomach, pushing him forward with incredible speed. They bolted through the air, wind howling and colours swirling around them. The Portkey was magnetically drawing the little group of Hogwartians onward until suddenly –

Harry's feet slammed into the ground. Before establishing any balance, someone staggered into him, causing both to take a short trip into the dirt road. There were four other loud thumps behind him as extra bodies flew into the make-shift dog pile that Harry was, unfortunately, at the bottom of.

"Did I mention how much I _hate Portkeys? Can't wait until I get a permanent Apparating licence."_

"We tried that before, Lee. Remember? The big hole in the disgruntled Muggles' roof? The plunge that could have served out our untimely demise?"

"I'll give the both of you an untimely demise if someone doesn't stop elbowing me in the stomach!"

"There you go, George. Stomach minus elbow. Now, where the hell do we go from here?"

"I'd suggest you all get you your feet and stop making complete fools of yourselves. This is a living disgrace of Hogwarts."

Harry shifted, still planted firmly into the ground, and straightened his askew glasses. Right in front of him stood a large pair of black tie-up boots shrouded in a midnight blue cloak. Looking up, Harry saw that both the boots and cloak belonged to Hogwarts' own Potions Master, Severus Snape. The professor looked down at Harry, an expression of utter disgust curling over his pale face.

"Get up," the Potions Master repeated.

In a massive wave, all six Hogwartians untangled themselves form each other and struggled to their feet. Eyeing them all closely, Snape walked down the line of his students.

"Of course, it takes the very bottom of the Gryffindor barrel to cause this much commotion," Snape shook his head in acute revulsion. "Potter and Weasley, the Lion's dream team. Jordan and the . . . ah . . . . _colourful_ Weasley twins. And who –" the Professor's eyes finally fell on Alexandrea, who had just picked the brassiere off of her head. "Why, if it isn't Miss McKay? Still tagging along with the red-heads like a little homeless puppy?"

Alexandrea kept strait faced, but her fingers shook with a slight spasm, just itching for her to reach for her wand. Seeing the impending disaster which was about to be played out before him, Lee caught his friend's wand hand in his grip before it had a chance to do any damage.

"With all due respect, Professor," Lee said through gritted teeth, "we've got a week before you take back full control of our lives."

"I'm counting down the days, Mr. Jordan," Snape sneered. With a final warning glare, the Potions Master turned on his heel and stormed down the dirt road into the town of Hogsmeade.

"Just where does he get off saying that?" Alexandrea demanded, finally wrenching her hand away from Lee. "Homeless puppy, my _arse_."

"Easy there, Al. You know perfectly well that Snape gets his jollies by batting around his students' self-esteem." George nodded down the path the professor had just exited down. "Besides, this is our last year with him and his last chance to suck our souls dry."

"On the bright side," Ron said dully. "Snape's still got Harry and I to bugger when the lot of you take off."

"And, at this rate, this year's going to be living hell." Harry adjusted his pack onto his shoulders. "I wonder why Snape is wandering around Hogsmeade, anyways. I thought all professors would be up in the castle by now."

"Who knows?" Fred rolled his eyes. "Let's go set up camp, mates. All this talk about Snape is making me feel a bit queasy."

Grumbling in agreement, the other five Gryffindors marched forward, Fred taking the lead and Alexandrea bringing up the rear with a small scowl still plastered over her face from the unfortunate encounter with Snape. The fired-haired Weasley led his companions a little ways off the Hogsmeade path into a field lightly peppered with full trees. They set up two weathered tents, one monstrous and one not nearly so. Swiftly afterward, the males of the tribe proposed a barbaric and hostel take over of their female counterpart's tent since their own smelt of wet dog. After much deliberation (mixed in with loud spurts of yelling and harsh curse words) the five boys decided to stick to their own putrid-smelling tent. 

Right then, let's toss out of here," George threw the rest of his pack into the boys' tent and fished out a bag of quid from his pockets. "I suggest we go stock up on Zonko supplies before it gets pitch black."

"I totally agree, o' brother of mine." Fred rubbed one of his shoulders, sore from carrying his heavy pack. "We've got to make a Honeydukes run too. Chocolate frogs on Lee's budget."

"What?" Lee raised an eyebrow. The Weasley twins began leading him down the path towards the town before the dreadlocked boy had a chance to retort.  

Alexandrea turned to follow, but stopped when she saw that the younger Gryffindors didn't follow their lead. "You two coming?"

"Harry and I haven't unpacked yet," Ron said.

"Don't want to paint the village red with a bunch of psychopathic seventeen year olds?" Alexandrea rephrased her question. 

"Spot on," Ron replied bluntly. "We know perfectly well what the lot of you are capable of. I certainly don't want to spend tonight sitting in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"See you soon with the bail money," Alexandrea shrugged and then quickly rushed towards the path to catch up with the boys.

"They're really _that dangerous?" Harry arched an eyebrow, bending down to unload his pack. _

"You'd be surprised, Harry," Ron shrugged half-heartily. "I think it's smart to stay back at least once. They'll be dragging us along for several acts of petit vandalism soon enough."

Harry chuckled, throwing a ball of socks into the boys' tent. Before he could unload another pair, a loud bark sounded across the campsite. A second soon echoed through the trees, quickly followed by a third and forth.

"Harry . . ." Ron's eyes went wide, transfixed on something behind his friend. "We've got company . . ."

Dropping the remainder of his socks, Harry slowly turned around. Standing on the edge of the campsite was a massive black Labrador. Shaggy fur heavily matted across its thick body, the dog seemed as though it had been stray for quite a while. 

But this creature was not a dog.

"_Sirius_?" Harry said slowly, as if he was unsure, or simply refused to believe what was standing on four legs in front of him.

Trying to confirm Harry's suspicions, the canine gave a soft growl in the back of his throat and a quick swish of the tail. It then turned towards the way it had apparently come from and trotted back into the woods.

Ron exchanged a quick, panicked glance with Harry. "Follow him?" the red-head predicted.

"We have to," Harry confirmed.

The two Gryffindors took off after the familiar canine, weaving through trees and bounding up over hills. As a stitch began to work its way into Harry's side, the black dog stopped, looking over its shoulder at the boys expectantly.

"We're following you," Harry reassured between brisk breaths. "But where are you _taking_ us?"

The dog gave a short bark, and then led the boys the rest of the way up the crumbling hill. At the top sat a large granite grotto, the entrance shrouded by a thicket of thorn bushes. Without a second thought, the dog leaped through and disappeared into darkness.

"Knowing out incredible luck," Ron muttered as he and Harry navigated the thick bushes, "it'll turn out that we've just been following a stray that's gone absolutely starkers . . . er . . . never mind."

A pitiful excuse for a living room appeared from deep in the very back of the cave. A dank old chesterfield sat moulding in the corner. A three-legged table was placed besides it, barely able to support the weight of several vintage newspapers which had been piled on top. 

A sudden pop came from the corner of the cave. The sound of joints shifting back into place reached Harry's ears, as if someone was stretching for the first time in months.

"I may be a stray," a voice echoed through the grotto. "But I'm not crazy – through many people would dispute that . . ."

A tall, wiry man slowly edged out of the darkness. Light hit his clear blue eyes, sending off sparks of life. His robes had been reduced to rags, which clung to his dangerously thin body. Black hair was thrown back haphazardly and was barley touching his shoulders.

"Hello, Harry." Sirius Black gave a wisp of a smile. "Cheers, Ron."

Ron nodded and grinned, but Harry reflected no such emotion. "_Sirius_," he said harshly to his godfather. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't tell me you honestly want to get caught?"

The smile quickly vanished from Sirius's unshaven face. "Can't I check in on my favourite godson now and again?"

"I'm your only godson," Harry replied sharply.

"Hence, my favourite." Sirius stepped closer to the two Gryffindors, bringing the sent of dog and pine with him. "Don't worry about me, Harry. Dumbledore sent me an owl a week ago. Told me to wait around here for a while – said he might be needing me."

"Needing you for what?" Harry raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Damned if I know." Sirius shrugged the question off, though he didn't make strait eye contact with his godson. "He has his reason and I'll respect them . . . so then, don't I at least get a _'Nice to see you again, Sirius'? I'll even settle for _'Hello, I tolerate your existence, you psychopathic bastard_'."_

Harry finally let a grin of happiness run rapid across his face. All during the summer, he had been wishing to see Sirius again. He need contact with that special part of his blurred past; a need that could only be resolved by the appearance of his grinning godfather. No matter how furious he was at Sirius for risking his freedom so recklessly, Harry was relieved to see that familiar face once again."

"Nice to see you again, Sirius." Harry smiled.

"Good." Sirius grinned, crossing his arms causally. "If you used the bastard line, I would have tied you to a tree and leave you for the doxies."

"Doxies, eh?" Ron raised an eyebrow, carefully taking a seat on the moulding sofa. 

Sirius nodded knowingly. "Those buggers can pluck your eyes right out from your sockets and then proceed to play croquet with them. Just the other day, a few of 'em made a nest under that sofa. Got a nasty bite when I – er – _discovered them."  As if wanting to prove is point further, he gave his behind a quick scratch. "Leave's a nasty rash, doxy venom does. Makes me wish I still had Buckbeak around – those little berks would think twice if Beaky was --"_

"Where is Buckbeak, anyways?" Harry asked as Ron slowly and carefully slid away from the tainted chesterfield. 

"Unfortunately, travelling with a full-grown hippogriff isn't so easy." Sirius fished out an old, half-eaten sandwich from one of his side pockets and took a large bite out from it. "Dumbledore wanted me to move quickly. Too quick for me to herd a one ton animal with me. So, I had to call in a few old favours."

"Old favours?" Ron questioned. "Don't tell us that Buckbeak is rotting in some slaughter house in southern Worcester."  

Sirius shook his sandwich at Ron in a somewhat threatening gesture. "And have Hagrid rip out my liver and cook it in brandy? No thank you. Buckbeak's frolicking happily in a dragon sanctuary in Northern Ireland. He'll be fine until I get back. Now then, what are _you lot doing around here? I heard the six of you coming from yards away."_

Harry and Ron exchanged short glances and then set off in a fit of chuckles. They told Sirius the tale of their last hurrah of the summer celebrated in the form of a camping trip at Hogsmeade. Ron went into great detail about their scandalous Portkey and Harry finished it all off with the unwanted run-in with Hogwarts' Potions Master.

"Snape wasn't exactly pleased about seeing us," Harry said. "The feeling was completely mutual, though."

Sirius blinked, slowly taking the last bit of the story in. "Hold a moment. Severus Snape . . . he's _here?"_

"Yeah," Harry confirmed carefully.

"I _knew_ it!" Sirius snarled, throwing his sandwich against the far wall. "I knew he'd come around, that little piker. Always sticking his fat nose in –" he suddenly stopped, ran his fingers through his long hair in deep thought, and turned back to Harry and Ron. "You're _sure_ it was Snape?" 

"Of course it was. Nobody else could be that greasy," Ron answered. "Is something wrong?"

Ignoring Ron's question, Sirius continued to fume. "That unbelievable _bastard_," he swore sharply. "He has no idea what he's stepping into. If I ever see him around here, I'll –"

Abruptly, a loud explosion sounded, and one of Harry's side pockets blew clean off. Sirius stopped in mid-sentence, eyeing his godson carefully.

"Sorry 'bout that, Sirius," said Harry sheepishly as he and Ron tried desperately not to laugh. "They're . . . erm, they were Cortemanch seeds. They blow up when people around you are thinking non-trustworthy thoughts. Phiona Love gave them to us right before we left for Hogsmeade and I forgot –"

"W – what did you say?" Sirius's face went limp, his mouth hanging open in acute shock. "Who did you say gave those to you?"

"Er . . . Phiona Love. Our friend Alexandrea's mum. Why? Do you . . ." Harry trailed off, seeing that his godfather wasn't putting forth any effort to listen. Sirius's face was slowly going pale and he ran a shaky hand through his tangled hair.

"She's _back_," he murmured, his lips barely moving.

"Are you, erm . . . _okay_, Sirius?" asked Ron as he got to his feet.

Sirius nodded, though Harry could have sworn he saw his godfather shiver. "Sure. It's nothing. Don't think twice about it, boys."

Harry and Ron exchanged doubtful glances. Sirius quickly caught on and immediately plastered a large, false grin across his face. "Come on, you two. I reckon you better get moving if you want to make it back to your campsite before dark." He quickly shoed Harry and Ron forward and out of the cave. "Send me an owl when you get to Hogwarts!" With a quick closing remark and a short wave, Sirius disappeared back into his cave, leaving both of the young Gryffindors utterly dumbfounded.

"Well, _that_ was all a bit wonky," Ron muttered as he and Harry headed back down the hill. "What the hell set Sirius off like that?"

Harry shrugged. "I have about as much idea as you," he said. "He _was_ sort of nervous when we mentioned Alex's mum, though."

"You're right." Ron ducked under a low tree branch. "Maybe he knows her from Hogwarts. Or maybe – Harry, what if Phiona's trying to catch Sirius for the _Ministry_?"

"I thought she was a dragon keeper," Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, though the thought of Phiona on the Ministry's pay-roll made his stomach sink a bit.

"Blimey! She could be working _under-cover!" Ron began to talk faster, a mixture of nervousness and excitement overthrowing his speech pattern. "She's after Sirius, Harry! Probably right on his trail. We better go back –"_

"Hold on, Ron. That doesn't make any sense." Harry shook his head. "Sirius would have told us something like that so that we could help him. Anyways, Phiona Love doesn't really seem to fit the part of an Auror. She hides silverware in manure piles and tosses around illegal pranks."

"Yeah, well . . ." Ron sounded a bit deflated. "Maybe we could mention it to Alex. You know, just in case . . ."

The sky began to darken as the sun hid behind the horizon. It started to get colder as the head-wind came back with vengeance. The two boys made their way back to the campsite as the last light disappeared over the trees. As they got closer to their clearing, Harry and Ron felt a brisk warmth pelt though them. The older Hogwartians had created a huge bon-fire that would suit even the most malevolent of pyromaniacs.

"Oy! Where have the two of you been?" Lee called out as he and George caught sight of their wandering companions. "Fred and Al went out looking for you hours ago."

"Er, we went out collecting firewood and got a little turned around," explained Ron as he and Harry sat down on a log across from George. 

"So then," the blue-haired Weasley twin said airily. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

"The firewood, you dolt."

"Oh, erm . . ." Harry bit his lower lip, thinking fast. "We lost it."

"_I'll_ say you lost it." George shook his head in disgust and unearthed a banger from his pack. "We reckoned that the two of you got mauled to death by a gang of doxies."

Ron snorted abruptly, almost choking on the marshmallow he had stuffed into his mouth. "Beautiful picture, that is. Harry and I strapped down to a tree as a lot of peckish doxies pluck out our eyeballs."

"Thanks for the description, Ronniekinns," George mused, turning his now flaming banger back into the fire. "I was just to say the doxies would pelt you to death with rocks. But, hell, if you want to go with the eyeballs, that's perfectly corking with me . . ."

"Fred and Alex better beware," Lee's face twisted into a wild, psychopathic grin. He didn't even seem to notice that the marshmallow he was cooking over the flames had caught on fire and was burning out of control. "For, behind any given bush or tree may be lurking –"

**_BANG!_**

****

The four Hogwartians' heads jerked towards the edge of the forest. Thousands of red sparks were floating up from amongst the trees, intermingling with the stars. Harry stood up and took his wand out from his robes, everyone else following his lead. There was a silent whisper of _"What the hell?"_ from the general vicinity of George and Lee.

Suddenly, Fred Weasley came stumbling out of the forest. His fiery hair was stuck down to his pale forehead with a line of sweat. He was liberally covered in mud and a deep rip was flapping on the side of his robes. It was not the site of the dishevelled Weasley twin which Harry and the others focused on, however. In Fred's arms, face reflecting a pale blue, lay the lifeless body of Alexandrea McKay.      


	9. Of Billywigs and Butterbeer

_"The hard part about being a bartender is figuring out who is drunk and who is just stupid"._

_Richard Braunstein_

**Chapter 8**

_Of Billywigs and Butterbeer_

"Al? Alex, wake up. Can you hear me? This isn't funny, you bint. Now _wake up _. . ."

Alexandrea McKay had been carried into the boys' tent and was now lying soundlessly on Ron's mattress. She wasn't dead – they could see her chest rise and fall with each deep breath. Nevertheless, the five boys circled around the bed, each of their minds whirling madly for ideas of what to do next. The fire-haired Weasley twin had been doing most of the talking. He leaned over the bed, wiping his face with a dirty sleeve, and spewed out a delicate combination of swears and pleas.

"This isn't your fault, Fred," George muttered, clamping a hand on his twin's shoulder. It looked as though Fred was in need of that extra word of encouragement. "Tell us again what happened."

Fred took in a shaky breath and then slowly exhaled. "We were jogging up by that group of caves – up on top of that hill in back of us, you know. Thought we saw Ron and Harry around there." His eyes closed tightly, as if he was trying to paint the picture in his mind. "Started joking about how much Mum would kill us if we lost them – but Al stopped. Went pale as a ghost, she did. Said something bit her and then she just . . . _fainted_."

"Something bit her?" Lee raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"Er . . . yeah." Fred absentmindedly wiped away a stream of sweat which had begun to collect above his right eyebrow. "A little blue bug crawled out of one of her boots. Spinning like a little tornado, it was. Never seen anything like that before."

"Hagrid hasn't brought anything like that to class," Ron mused. "It's probably not dangerous, then."

"Doesn't sound much like anything from around here," George commented. "Unless one of Glasgow's nuclear plants have been letting out a bit more radiation than usual. _That_ would certainly make things bright blue and spin like a tornado."

"I wish I was blue."

Five sets of eyes snapped towards the bed, taking in the sight of Alexandrea McKay sitting straight up on the mattress. She had a wild, wolf-like grin smeared across her face, her missing eye tooth bared proudly. She was swaying softly, as if she held some sort of inner ear problem which threw off her balance. Evidence of trouble, however, sprouted from her eyes – usually dark and lively, they were now rendered grey and completely misted over.

"Alex?" Fred took a step away from his friend with a mix of shock and acute fear. "Are you . . . _alright_?"

Alexandrea blinked her cloudy eyes, staring at Fred with interest. After what felt like several minutes of intense concentration, the girl's face suddenly contorted into a frozen wince. She then threw her head back in hysteric laughter, each cackle echoing through the tent.

"Maybe you should . . . lie down for a bit, Alex," Harry suggested, though he truly doubted that would help at this point.

As if jolted to life by an electrical current, Alexandrea jumped to her feet and thrust her fist into the air. "_Freedom!"_ she squealed with exuberance. Without any words from the boys, the young witch leaped out of the tent and bolted into the darkness.

"Suffering from brain damage, I reckon," George said bluntly.

"She did hit the ground pretty damn hard." Fred scratched the back of his head, completely nonplussed. "Might've knocked a few screws loose."

"The good news is," George continued knowingly, taking a seat on Ron's mattress, "I doubt anyone will notice the difference."

"Piss off, the both of you." Lee crossed his arms. "Al's not _crazy_."

There was a pause just long enough to hear Alexandrea wail and howl like a spider monkey in heat.

Ron delicately finished Lee's train of thought. "No, not crazy," he said, and then turned towards his brothers. "She's bloody _stark raving mad_."

"It has to be that bug," Harry remarked. "That's the only real explanation, isn't it? I just wish we knew what it was."

"Tis' a Billywig, you silly little fruit."

Deciding to grace the boys with her presence once again, Alexandrea threw the tent flaps open with absolute flourish. Mud caked her hands, looking very much like a gravedigger after a hard night on the job. To complete the ensemble, a branch of a local elm was strung through her short hair, giving her two leafy antlers.

"Alex," Ron said very slowly, taking a step backwards. He had never dealt with the insane before. Though, he _had_ lived with Fred and George for all sixteen years of his life. That _should_ count for something. "You really know what kind of bug that was?"

"Tis' a Billywig! Wait a moment." Alexandrea furrowed her brow in confusion. "Didn't I just say that?"

"They're not poisonous, are they?" Fred asked.

"Deadly poisonous. Filled to the eyes with neurotoxins," Alexandrea replied cheerfully as she stumbled into the tent. "You're dead in ten minutes and purifying in thirteen. Were you bitten?"

"No." Fred shook his head furiously. "Alex, _you_ were bitten."

"_Bitten_?" Alexandrea gasped with horror. "Bitten by what?"

"A Billywig!"

"Oh." Alexandrea gave Fred a little indigent shove. "I thought you said it was something _poisonous_. Worst thing a Billywig can do is make you levitate, eh?"

"So," Lee started again, trying to straighten things up a bit, "you're sure that Billywigs aren't poisonous?"

Alexandrea gave Lee a blank stare. "What's a Billywig?"

"Right then. That's enough of that." George rubbed the side of his face in exhaustion, not wanting to continue the endless strain. Even Abbot and Costello would spontaneously combust with this sort of nonsense floating around. "Al, you just need to sit down for a while. Let your head settle before I settle it for you."

With her manic grin growing nastier, Alexandrea pounced onto the mattress next to George. She moved in closer, edging her way onto the blue-haired Weasley's lap. "Well, aren't _you_ a nasty bit of crumpet," the young witch cooed while pinching George's cheek. "Buy me a drink and I'm all _yours_."

Ron snorted out loud, quite amused with the whole spectacle. "A whole lot of blackmail could come of this," he commented.

"A bit too much, if you ask me," George replied flatly as Alexandrea began to nuzzle his ear with her crooked nose. "Oh sweet_ Lord._ Would you _piss off?"_

With a disgusted shove, Alexandrea tumbled off the bed and rolled to the ground. She lay there on her back for several moments, looking up at the tent's ceiling as all five boys peered down at her with equal interest. She didn't blink. Not once. This was not without lack of effort, however – her eyelids were twitching madly in a sort of open-eyed REM, desperately trying to close themselves.

"Blow _this _for a lark," She said suddenly, jumping back to her feet. "There's pissing good times elsewhere, lads. I'm off."

And indeed she was (In both a metaphysical and physical sense). The boys watched as Alexandrea battled the tent flaps once more and, barely winning the fight, marched out underneath the stars.

"Well then." Ron blinked, eyes glued to the place where Alexandrea last stood. "This is an interesting turn of events."

"Ten quid says she's dead by morning," Lee provided.

"We should follow her," Harry said, his hand moving into his wand pocket. "For all we know, the poison might make her explode. Or worse."

"Worse than exploding? You've got a bugger of an imagination on you, Harry." George tossed on a cloak, giving his twin a little nudge. "Where d'you reckon she'll be off to, Fred?"

"The way she's acting?" The fire-haired Weasley raised his eyebrows, giving off a knowing look. "Off some place to grab a good drought, I 'spect."

"A _pub_?" Lee gave a nervous little chuckle as he followed his companions outside. "Make it twenty quid. Two to one odds."

* * *

The Three Broomsticks wasn't one of England's most rowdy of pubs. Fights never broke out, and the chance of someone getting smacked up-side the head with a chair was less then slim. Of course, if getting bludgeoned over the head with something heavy is your idea of entertainment, you could certainly find better amusement at The Hog's Head, The Bucket, or The Queen's Arrow.

Indeed, Madam Rosmerta ran a respectable little pub which attracted family, friends and Hogwartians alike. The Madam made sure that her cliental were as well rounded as her drinks; the soused who only sought to turn 'Happy Hour' into a 'Tanked One Hundred and Eighty Minutes' would quickly receive the pointy end of Madam Rosmerta's high-heeled boots.

She hated leaving the Three Broomsticks. She even refused to take vacations off – the last time she did, the Madam returned to find her pub overrun by livestock (apparently a shepherd had stayed for a couple rounds, forgetting that he was still on the clock). She felt most comfortable when the Broomsticks was safely under her thumb, but family emergencies always seemed to pop up now and again. That night, she was attending the second funeral of her grandmother (It turned out that Nanny Rosemetra wasn't quite dead the first time), leaving her two apprentice barmen to watch the place.

Downey Trinket and James Folsom, general grammar school graduates and all-around scum bags, held high one credo whenever the Madam had disappeared from their sights: 'Where there be drinks, there be high-paying drunks'.

Smalls and Doughnut Jimmy (as they were called by the local patrons) wasted no time moulding the Madam's precious pub after their own soggy hearts. The Three Broomsticks soon became a haven for anyone whose ears couldn't help but perk up when someone uttered the sacred words of _'Quidditch' _and _'Ale'. _That night, the Broomsticks was stuffed to the brim with streamers, pendants, and pints. Smalls had bewitched the entire wall, from the edge of the bar to the men's loos, to receive feedback from the International Quidditch Cup game. Pub goers could watch the game as they sat and drank till their hearts' content. All eyes stayed glued to the Goblins and the Meteorites players as they flew across walls, over mugs, and (if some bloke left the door to the loo open for too long) around the toilets.

The yells and whoops of the Broomstick's enthusiastic Quidditch fans acted as a glowing beacon, feeding Alexandrea McKay's moth-like tendencies. Harry, Lee, and the three Weasley siblings watched from the doorway as Alexandrea shuffled through the crowd inside of the Three Broomsticks. She stopped suddenly, her dilated pupils catching sight of the magic hologram of a Meteorite Chaser zooming past with a Quaffle under his arm. Giving a little squeal of unadulterated joy, Alexandrea plopped down at a free table, the five boys following suit behind her.

"I 'spose a couple of butterbeers won't hurt the situation any," Fred mused, his glance travelling around to the far wall. "And at least we get to see the Quidditch game. Nice choice, Al."

Alexandrea, however, had her attention set straight forward on the game in front of him. She absentmindedly pulled the branch out of her hair and, with the precision of a well-seasoned beaver, began to gnaw on the end of it.

Ron bit his lower lip. "I don't know," he said slowly. "Maybe, you know, we should take Alex to an apothecary – just in case."

"She's not exploding." George gave a shrug, his eyes caught by two Goblins' Beaters in hot pursuit of a Meteorite Chaser. "She doesn't seem to mind, does she?"

"And she's not," Fred yanked the branch out of Alexandrea's mouth, "doing anything horribly strange, eh?"

Harry motioned towards the witch in the seat next to his own. "She's levitating, Fred."

"Oh. Right then."

And indeed, Alexandrea was hovering a good ten centimetres above her seat. She seemed too busy to notice, however. Her branch forgotten, she took to examining the mystery of her hands.

"Look," she said, her dark eyes greying with fog. "They can touch everything . . . but _themselves._"

There was silence at the table. Harry looked around, making sure that no one else was paying attention to the levitating witch, then tugged down on the mystified Alexandrea's robes, helping her take a seat back on earth.

"Erm . . . yes," Fred said finally as he began to get out of his seat. "Medical professionalism sounds spot on, actually. Where d'you reckon –"

"'S a pub, gents," crowed a voice behind them. "Yez order a pint or get yer sorry arses outta here."

Doughnut Jimmy was never one for customer courtesy. Nor was he one for patience. Or a comb, for that matter.

Harry bit his lower lip. His eyes glanced around the table, then stuck on Alexandrea. With her hands under the table and forgotten, her stare was picked up by a pint of red ale which sat on the table next to them. The witch's already wide eyes grew even wider, as if she was a small child taking in the inventory of a sweet shop. Harry knew that if they left now without a drink, Alexandrea make sure that the next few hours were a living hell for the boys. And, with her current state of mind factoring in, that could potentially be dangerous.

"A round of butterbeers, then." George picked up, apparently thinking along the same lines as Harry. It was better to let Alexandrea have her fun than suffer her wrath.

Doughnut Jimmy squinted his beady eyes, as if he was uncertain of what he had just heard. The prospect ran around his head for a while. He then burst into a fit of laughter, the nostrils of his long and freckled nose flaring with each guffaw.

"Oi'm wearing a dress, am Oi?" he choked out, wiping fake tears from his eyes.

Harry, Lee, and the Weasley siblings shook their heads quickly. The idea of a dress hanging off of Doughnut Jimmy's gawky frame wasn't the most attractive of ideas.

"Then yez know Oi'm not Rosmerta," Doughnut Jimmy continued. "'S like Oi seys before, this here's a _pub_. Least it is when Rosey's gone. Smalls 'n' Oi cleared out all the butterbeer nonsense so we could make room fer the extra ales and lagers. 'S Quidditch season, mates. 'N yer a wee bit young, Oi fink, fer what Smalls has behind the bar."

Harry glanced behind him at the till. Smalls, he decided, was quite an ironic nickname for the barman. Mr. Trinket was a behemoth, his shoulders spanning the entire length of the bar. He was meticulously cleaning a mug, cheese cloth scrubbing harshly in his meaty hands.

"Smalls don't serve kiddies," Doughnut repeated, though he looked barely over the drinking age himself. "D'ya, Smalls?"

The large black man let out a growl. Harry took that as a no.

Alexandrea, who had apparently decided to join the realm of the sane for a bit, stood up suddenly, grabbing a hold of the front of Doughnut Jimmy robes and pulling him down to her height. "What about you?" she asked, her teeth bared.

Doughnut Jimmy's mouth hung open a bit. Harry doubted that his face had ever been that close to a representative of the female species. "_Wha_?"

"D'you serve _kiddies_?" Alexandrea pulled the young barman closer. His long nose tangoed with her crooked one. "Because _this_ kiddie is damn _thirsty_."

"Yer . . . yer _soused_ already," Doughnut Jimmy stuttered. He was either deathly afraid or couldn't believe his luck. The latter was most likely. He'd have to tell Smalls that the boyish charm he claimed to always have was finally kicking in.

Alexandrea raised an eyebrow. Her feet began to hover a couple of centimetres off the ground.

"Bitten by a Billywig," Lee corrected quickly.

"Oi fink 's just as bad." Doughnut Jimmy mumbled.

"Reckon it is," Alexandrea growled.

"If you get drink in ya," the young barman swallowed a lump forming at the back of his throat, "than 'bloody soused' would be a bleeding understatement."

"The more drinks I have in me," Alexandrea warned, letting go of the barman's collar, "the more attractive you'll seem to be. Am I right?"

Doughnut Jimmy blinked. Twice. His mouth fluttered to find the right words, but settled instead for the ever-charming expression of, "Er . . ."

And, before Harry knew it, young James "Doughnut" Folsom, let the better part of his hormones lead him forward and bolted to the back of the till. Soon afterwards, in what may have been the quickest bar service in the history of England, six pints of golden lager sat foaming on the table.

"Gotta admit." Lee pulled a mug towards him. "This place has spirit. Cheers, Al."

But Alexandrea had apparently slipped into her own Billywig-induced world again. She held her hands in front of her as if she had paused in mid-clap. "_Everything," _she repeated. "Everything but _themselves._"

Ron and Harry carefully watched as the three older boys quickly started through their pints, ignoring the apparent lack of sanity the table had gained.

"Mum wouldn't like this one," Ron murmured.

Fred rolled his eyes, foam sitting delicately on the end of his nose. "Thanks for the advice, _Percy_," he scathed. "Sweet Jesus, Ronnikins, take a bloody _pisser_."

"We're not doing anything horrible, are we?" George asked rhetorically. "Never ordered these drinks, did we?"

"No." Ron glanced at the mug in front of him. "But –"

"Bit of fun, that's all," Lee said. "We've got to wait for Alex to settle down, anyways. Why waste the free brew until then?"

"You only have a couple more days until you're stuck under Hogwarts' thumb." Fred gave the two younger Hogwartians a large grin. "Taste the world while you can, lads."

Ron and Harry exchanged looks with one another, then slowly let their collective glace slip back to Alexandrea. The young levitating witch had her already empty mug balanced on her head as she began to thumb wrestle herself, two hands locked in an epic battle.

"Buggrit," Alexandrea muttered to herself. "Damn the twigger f'r'a bang at the fusel, and shrimp, 'cas the worm's on the other boot. Yep, see if he don't . . ."

At that point, Doughnut Jimmy would be looking _extremely_ attractive to her.

Harry shrugged, lifting the mug which had been set in front of him. "Cheers," he said with a grin.

* * *

She sat underneath an aging oak tree, musing over the world which had darkened around her.

Of course, the world had been rendered static in the realm of darkness for a long time now. Little had changed between the era of the Dark Arts and the present. There was still an underground group of restless Death Eaters waiting for the next set of plans from the Dark Lord. And there was still a select few brave souls who risked their lives everyday to push back the shadows. If the mortal world stood in the balance, then Evil and Good were most certainly on the opposite ends of the see-saw.

The only difference between then and now? She had no one by her side this time around.

And Evil was beginning to let its feet drag in the sand, letting Good dangle helplessly on its end of the see-saw.

Wind blowing strains of hair into her dry eyes, she got to her feet and started down the path towards Hogsmeade. The last time she had visited this town, it had been a battlefield. The screams of terror still echoed in the back of her mind. She had killed here, erasing lives with out a second thought.

The ghosts of darkness haunted her now more than ever before.

Now time had started to repeat itself. The oracle, Fudge claimed, had gained contact with others. Two more of her kind. She thought she would be the last – _prayed_ that she would be the last.

God might as well have flipped her The Bird.

The first building she happened across was the smutty pub, the Hog's Head. Even though the atmosphere was less then pleasant, she remembered that she rather enjoyed spending many chaotic nights here with her companions over a pint or two. Or three.

Of course, she had killed two of her companions.

One had troubles of his own to deal with, let alone drag around her tribulations with him.

Another had joined the shadows.

The last . . . he was dead to her.

They were all dead to her, but he . . . _he_ wounded her the most. She supposed she loved him at one brief point in her life, but that all was long forgotten. The feeling was never to be pondered over again. No matter what she said or did, he was gone.

Down the dark street, cloak swirling around her like a swarm of ravens, she made her way through town. The only noise came from the family pub at the end of the path. The Three Broomsticks was the only building that dared to cause a joyous racket at this dark hour. It was sad how naïve they were.

They had no idea what was coming.

She entered the Three Broomsticks, not seeing who she was searching for right away. The place was a cesspool of Quidditch and its admirers. Apparently, it was a wonderful day to be a Goblins fan. The team captain, clad in red and white, was making his rounds of the pitch while hoisting a large golden cup incrusted with raw emeralds. The roar of the crowd echoed around the small pub, muffling all other conversations. There was one voice, however, which rose above them all.

She snapped to attention, her head jerking towards the sound of the familiar voice. There they were . . . six children who didn't seem to have a care in the world. Her eyes narrowed and a small growl of anger crackling down her throat.

They shouldn't be here. Something was amiss outside, and they were all in grave danger.

Of course, now that she had them in her sight, they were in even more danger.

Her black robes sweeping the floor with a dark shadow, she made her way across the pub and stood behind the children's table. They were all tanked, glancing dizzily around the room as their minds spun out of control. Only one even bothered to make eye contact. He stared at her with aloof interest. She met his glance with narrow eyes. The boy winced suddenly, clamping a hand over his forehead in abrupt pain.

Then she remembered that she had to watch her temper with this one. His head could explode if she let her powers get the best of her.

She took the first boy by the arm, pulling him to his feet. "You've got to go now," she called to the rest of the table.

Surprisingly, the six didn't put up much of a fight. They were much too tired and their minds were too deeply dipped in fog to reject her direction. She led them out of the pub and herded them down the road to their campsite. They each crawled into their tents, each one saying a special round of curse words to their pounding headaches.

She waited outside for a while after the children were safely to bed. There, like a gothic gargoyle, she sat perched on a moulding log. There were so many questions she needed to ask them. So many warnings she could give. But now all she could do was take out her wand and cast a protective circle which would help them through the night. It would save them now, but tomorrow would be different.

Tomorrow was a full moon.

Tomorrow their world would begin to crumble.


End file.
